


World enough and time

by Captain_Firefly



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Sickfic, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-07-15 06:01:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 44,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7210832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Firefly/pseuds/Captain_Firefly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all began with being tired. Not a, sleepy-student-who-stays-out-all-night tired either, more of a "all-I’ve-done-is-go-to-one-lecture-and-I-needed-a-3-hour-nap” kind of tired. Beca was always tired these days. </p><p>It all began with being tired. But how did it end up here?</p><p>[PREVIOUSLY: What Beca Did.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Napping? Napping.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi gang, 
> 
> This is my first ever fanfic for any fandom ever, and I haven't written this much since I was about 13 and I wrote angsty short stories hidden on the depths of my family computer. If you even read this, please do something, even if it's comment on how terrible it is, just so I know I'm not talking to myself? Also I have the whole thing mapped out so do not panic that I'll start this and won't finish it!
> 
> Also, part of the reason it's AU is because it's set in London in the UK, because I'm a pro at University and the NHS but I will never understand college or paying for healthcare.

 

Beca was tired.

To be fair, Beca was always tired these days. Not a, sleepy-student-who-stays-out-all-night tired either, more of a ‘all-I’ve-done-is-go-to-one-lecture-and-I-needed-a-3-hour-nap” kind of tired. As she lay in bed, slowly waking herself up from said nap, all wrapped up in a onesie, duvet, and cheap IKEA blanket, she once again thanked her lucky stars that she was studying English, with a mere 4 contact hours a week, compared to housemate Stacie’s 25 gruelling hours of Chemistry.

Reaching to grab her phone from her bedside windowsill to check the time, Beca sighed. 15:04. She had exactly 26 minutes to get out of her warm onesie-duvet-blanket-nest, put on some real clothes, and be on the top floor of the student union building for Bella’s rehearsals.  
26 minutes. She could do this.

Maybe.

 

* * *

 

  _28 minutes later_

“Sorry sorry sorry!” Beca yelled, running into the huge room on the top floor of the student union, laptop bag falling off her shoulder and sheets of music slipping from her hands as she skidded to a stop.

“I’m so, so sorry, I was just-“

“Napping?” came 9 voices, in unison.

“Napping,” Becca finished, hanging her head.

“Well, you’re only three minutes late, which is pretty impressive considering you probably didn’t set an alarm! Now get up here and teach us the incredible setlist we know you’ve created for us,” Chloe said, grinning as she skipped over to Becca and grabbed her arm, pulling her to the front of the room. Embarrassment forgotten, Beca began handing out the sheets of music she had brought with her.

“So it starts with…”

 

* * *

 

“That mix is awesome, Becs,” Chloe said, as she and Beca stood side by side, both covered in a light sheen of sweat and rooting in their bags for water bottles.  
Becca grinned, glad that the overall tomato-character of her face hid any additional blushing that she would vehemently deny was occurring at all.

“Thanks. We’ve got Regionals in the bag this year, Beale. Again,” she said, smirking at the memory of the last 2 years of Bella’s winning the Regional part of the annual Varsity acapella competition.

“Again,” Chloe agreed, before draining the last drop of her water bottle and watching Beca do the same, “Thanks to one, teeny tiny, but definitely awesome DJ,” she finished, booping Beca on the nose.

“Really, Chloe?” Beca whined, scrunching her nose and going to punch Chloe gently on the arm.

“Worth it!” Chloe squealed, skipping away from Beca’s approaching fist and grabbing her bag in one movement, “Just to see your srunched-up-boop face!”.

Beca sighed, shook her head, grabbed her bag, and ran to catch up with the other girl, linking their arms and hip checking her.

“Yeah well Beale, only for you. Anyone else boops me and it’s a firm jab in the ribs for them, and no scrunchy-boop face,” Beca replied, looking down again, this time being grateful that she was wearing a high-necked exercise top. She was pretty sure even her neck was blushing at this point.

“That’s because you love me,” Chloe sang, slipping her arm down Beca’s and linking their fingers, swinging their joined hands between them.

"Whatever, Beale,” Beca muttered, completely unable to hide the smile on her face as she looked down.

Chloe squeezed their hands once, before reaching for the light switch, and plunging the studio behind them into darkness. By this point, the other Bella’s had of course all left. No one needed to wait around to watch their oblivious captains flirt with each other.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, having walked home together, cooked together (“Pasta, again Beca, really?” “We’re students, Chlo, pasta is acceptable 6 nights out of 7 these days,”), and started a water fight over the washing up (“You splash me one more time Chloe Beale and I will end you”… “That’s it!”), Chloe and Beca snuggled on their tiny green and white striped sofa, covered with yet another IKEA fleece blanket. Chloe and Beca were on the tiny sofa, with Fat Amy, Stacie and Emily sitting on cushions on the floor on front of them, all staring at the laptop on the coffee table in front of them. Beca could barely keep her eyes open.

“Hey, Becs?” Chloe whispered, as she felt the brunette’s head slip off her shoulder in sleep for the 4th time that evening.

“Mhmmhm,” Beca made an indistinguishable noise, lifting her head and opening her eyes.

“What’s going on, Becs?” Chloe whispered again. Fortunately the sound of Buffy enthusiastically fighting with Kendra was covering the sound of their soft conversation.

“Nothing Chlo, why?” Beca replied, head up now, eyes focused straight ahead, as if she had any idea what was going on, on the laptop in front of her.

“You’ve been so tired all the time. You’re sleeping through your lectures, those naps before Bella’s practice… And I know you hate movies but I also know you love Buffy,” Chloe replied, her anxiety for her friend creeping into her voice.

“I’m fine Chlo,” Beca reassured her, eyes still not moving from the flashing screen in front of her, “I’ve just been a bit run down recently. I’m fine, promise,” she turned, then, giving Chloe what was supposed to be a reassuring smile before turning back to the laptop again, the light reflecting off her face somehow emphasising the fact that she was in no way paying attention.

“Hmph,” Chloe huffed, quietly. Realising that she wasn’t getting anything out of Beca that evening, she too returned her attention to the screen. And when Beca fell asleep on her shoulder again, Chloe slipped her arm round the other girl, allowing her to settle more securely on her chest, playing with her hair as the rest of the episode played.

 

* * *

 

 “Hey Becs, what’s what on your arm?” Chloe asked, or attempted to ask, given that there was a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth, and toothpaste slowly dribbling down her chin. With her other hand she pointed to the small puncture mark in Beca’s elbow, surrounded by a tiny bruise.

“Oh, this?” Beca asked, similarly unclearly as her mouth was also otherwise occupied. Communal tooth-brushing was an important tradition in the Bella’s household, particularly given the fact that there was only one bathroom.

“Oh, I errr, donated blood yesterday, that’s all,” Beca said, clearly now as she spat out her toothpaste and rinsed her tooth brush.

“Night Chlo!” she said as she rounded out the bathroom without giving Chloe a chance to say goodnight, leaving her staring after Beca, slack jawed, toothbrush in hand, not noticing the toothpaste until it dripped on her foot. Beca HATED needles. Chloe had been trying to persuade her to donate blood for as long as they had known each other, and Beca had never done it because she said needles made her faint. What the hell was going on? Chloe was worried about Beca, but if (as Chloe suspected) the mark was from having a non-voluntary blood test, _Beca_ must be worried about Beca, and that scared Chloe even more.  
 


	2. I don't have an eating disorder!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what's going on with Beca.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knows if anyone is even reading this, but if you are, THANK YOU.  
> Posting an update so quick because fiction > medical school exams. Super important note at the end - please, please read it.

_5 weeks later_

Beca groaned as she rolled over in her bed-cocoon, scrambling to reach for her phone as it ‘ping’ed aggressively at her. Swiping to silence her alarm she flopped back onto her mattress, lying on her back and contemplating the ceiling.

_I’m tired_ , she thought to herself.

_How many times a day do I think that?_ she wondered.

_How long have I been thinking that, how many times a day?_

_I’m too tired_ , she concluded, and sighed.

Hauling herself out of bed, into her harem pants and her comfiest t-shirt and hoodie (sometimes that was the only way to get out of bed these days, out of the duvet, straight into the comfiest clothes she owned.) She looked at her phone: 14:45. No way she was gonna be late for Bella’s practice again, nap or not nap. She rubbed her calf absent mindedly as she contemplated getting something to eat before she went. It had been bothering her recently, it was swollen but you couldn’t see that under the harem pants she now habitually wore. Brushing off the thought, and deciding against having anything to eat, (somehow, despite skipping breakfast and sleeping through lunch, Beca still wasn’t hungry. She knew she’d eat later with Chloe anyways.), Beca grabbed her keys from her chest of drawer, slipped her phone in her pocket, and dragged herself out the front door and up the hill to the student union.

 

* * *

 

 “Alright girls, let’s run that one more time from the top, with both the singing, and the choreography!” Chloe called, clapping her hands to get the Bella’s attention from where they had dispersed to their bags to get drinks.

Once again, Beca’s stomach dropped. She was exhausted. She had drunk all the water in her bottle and yet somehow she still felt completely drained, and her leg was starting to ache. But she was a captain, and these were here Bella’s, and she had to make a good example.

“Come one, aca-nerds!” she called to the reluctant girls, empathising with their collective desire to be done with practice and head home to Netflix and beds. It would only take them 5 minutes to run through the short set from the start to finish. She could be a good role model for 5 more minutes, right?

“5 and 6 and 7 and 8!” Chloe yelled, and they began.

4 minutes and 37 seconds later, as she tried to get up from the floor during a particularly energetic dance move, a stabbing pain went through Beca’s calf. Silvery spots blurred her vision, the Bella’s sounded like they were far away and their chatter was being replaced with a high-pitched whine, and then -

 

* * *

 

 “What happened?”

“She fainted!”

“She’s gone completely white!”

“Is she OK?!”

“Move back and give her some space, she’s opening her eyes!”

A jumble of voices filtered into Beca’s brain as she tried to work out where she was. Lying on the floor. Cold floor. Bella’s. Practicing. Fainting. She sat up suddenly, spots clouding her vision again, only to feel a firm hand on her back pushing her head between her bent knees.

“Stay there, Becs,” Chloe’s soothing voice told her as she gently rubbed circles on the smaller girls back.

“You’re ok, you just fainted, you’re ok,” Chloe said, keeping up the soothing patter between asking the girls for water, or anything to eat. A cereal bar was shoved in Beca’s eye line but her head was still blurry and fuzzy and the thought of eating something so flimsy and dry was not appealing to her, so she pushed it away. Next, an open banana was put in her left hand, and the idea of something reassuring solid and sweet seemed more manageable. Nibbling the end of the banana, she registered the water bottle being handed her from her other side, and took it, taking a gentle sip. She could faintly hear Chloe murmuring in the background and Aubrey (who had been observing the Bella’s practice to give “constructive criticism” but really to ogle Stacie) shooing the girls away, but for now she concentrated on eating her banana and drinking her water and waiting for her vision to clear and to be able to hear people properly again.

After a few minutes, Beca felt like she was present again and lifted her head to see Chloe sitting on the floor next to her. Looking around she could see that Aubrey seemed to have managed to corral the girls into putting away the chairs scattered around the practise room, although most were shooting Beca worried looks in between times.

“Hey,” she said to Chloe, smiling softly.

“Hi,” Chloe replied, a worried smile on her face, her eyes gentle at her still pale friend in front of her.

“Sorry about that. Guess I should have lunch next time, huh? Thanks for the banana,” Beca smirked, leaning forward to gentle push Chloe on the shoulder.

But Chloe didn’t smile back. Instead she carried on looking at Beca, a crease between her eyebrows, her mouth twisted, biting her lip in apprehension.

“I know you haven’t been eating, Becs,” she said eventually, after a long pause in which Beca squirmed and tried to look anywhere but those blue eyes filled to the brim with concern.

“What? Yes, I have! You see me eat dinner every night, Chlo! You make me dinner every night!” Beca protested, although she could feel her neck flushing and her arms tingling in anxiety as she realised that Chloe was right. It had been a while since the evening meal they ate together hadn’t been the only meal she’d eaten all day. And Chloe knew it too.

“But that’s it, Beca! That’s all you eat! I know you haven’t done food shopping for weeks so you haven’t been making lunch, and I know you haven’t been having breakfast because my box of Cheerio’s lasted me a whole week without you ‘borrowing’ them every day! I know you’re losing weight because you’ve started wearing belts and I know that you would never just donate blood willingly!”. Chloe’s voice was raised by the end of this outburst, pulling a few more concerned looks from the Bella’s as they faltered in their tidying up, and her next sentence was almost whispered,

“If you need help, Bec’s, I’ll come with you. I’ll come with you to the doctors, you know they have a really good eating disorders clinic at the Student Health service, you know I know about this, you just have to let me help you!”.

Chloe’s words were something of a punch in the gut for Beca. For a moment the tingling from her arms spread to her chest and her lungs tightened and she was floating as the ground beneath her fell away, until she crashed back to earth again, albeit with her stomach in her throat and tears in her eyes.

“Not here, Chlo. Please. I’ll tell you about it. But not here,” she said between shallow breaths, reaching out for Chloe, grabbing her arm, imploring her to let the conversation drop until they reached the relative comfort and familiarity of Home.Even if Home was a a drafty student house with single glazing and thin walls.

“Ok,” Chloe said, softly, resignedly. She stood up, reaching a hand down to grab Beca’s, pulling the smaller girl up, putting a hand on her elbow to steady her as she wobbled, pulling it away when she was steady again. Together, and without touching, without speaking, they pushed through the double doors, down the stairs and out of the union, leaving Aubrey to deal with the gaggle of Bella’s they’d left behind.

 

* * *

 

 Neither of them said anything as they walked home. Although they walked side by side, no part of their bodies was touching, and although part of Beca ached to reach out to Chloe, to sling her hand through Chloe’s crooked elbow, to link them together in some tangible way, she couldn’t. Not when she knew what she knew, and what she couldn’t tell Chloe.

As they approached their house, Beca fished her keys out her pocket, slipped them into the lock and opened the front door, not checking behind her to see that Chloe was following, but hearing the door slam shut.

“Beca, I know this is hard to talk about, but you know that I of all people would understand!” Chloe yelled as soon as the door was shut, Beca still facing away from her, standing stock still in the hall way. Beca closed her eyes, and turned around.

“I don’t have an eating disorder, Chloe,” she replied, eyes still closed, trying to keep her breathing calm, her voice steady.

“You think I can’t see what’s happening here, Beca? Of course you’re gonna say you don’t have an eating disorder but look at you! You’ve lost weight, you’re not eating, you’re tired all the time, you had a blood test, probably because you were tired all the time and you were hoping there was another reason other than the fact that you won’t eat!” Chloe replied, getting more and more worked up, more and more frightened at the thought that Beca couldn’t see, couldn’t see what was happening, couldn’t see the path she was beginning to fall down.

“Chloe, I don’t have an eating disorder!” Beca replied, suddenly shouting, all hopes at remaining calm gone as she watched her friend fall apart in front of her, watched the tears falling down Chloe’s face at the idea that Beca might be suffering how Chloe had suffered.

“Beca, PLEASE, just listen to me!” Chloe yelled, shouting over Beca, begging her, imploring her to understand.

“Chloe, I don’t have an eating disorder, I have cancer!” The second the word was out of Beca’s mouth she gasped, clapped a hand to her mouth, as if she wouldn’t believe it had betrayed her secret so easily.

“I have cancer,” she repeated, softly this time, hand still over her mouth as she turned her back to the wall and slowly slid down it.

“I have cancer,” she almost whispered, sitting now, back against the wall, knees bent up, and her head cradled in her hands. “I have cancer.”

And now it was Chloe’s turn to feel the ground to fall out from under her, her stomach swooping with it, for the blood to rush to her head, to feel hot and tingly and like she couldn’t breathe. For ten seconds, she stood stock still, and didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t blink, before she took two steps towards Beca, slid down the wall next to her, pulled the girl into her side and stroked Beca’s hair as the girl in her arms wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The five most common symptoms of cancer in young people are:  
> 1\. Persistent and unexplained pain  
> 2\. A lump, bump or swelling  
> 3\. Extreme fatigue  
> 4\. Accidental weight loss  
> 5\. Changes to a mole 
> 
> In the UK, on average, it takes 4 visits to the GP before you're referred for specialist services. If you think this is happening to you, BE PERSISTENT. You can be ok, but getting help quicker is better.


	3. There goes that idea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, what next? One of the fun things about having cancer is telling people you have cancer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: thank you so much to everyone who was followed or reviewed or left kudo or given me feedback in any way. It really really helps! I'm writing this as I go, obviously, and it's my first fic, like I said, so it kind of feels like I'm floundering a bit and I'm not sure what I'm doing or where the ground is! It's so encouraging to know people are enjoying what I'm writing.
> 
> Also, a note on the medicine. Beca's experience in this fic is largely based on the experience of one of my close friends. I'm hoping that that + research + being a medical student will make the medicine appropriately realistic.
> 
> Thanks guys!
> 
> Freya

Beca and Chloe sat side by side, pillow propped up against the headboard of Beca's bed, the duvet over their legs, blanket round their shoulders, one hand each wrapped round a steaming mug of tea, the others' joined together between them.

Beca had just finished telling Chloe the story. The story of how at first she'd noticed her leg was swollen and thought she must've banged it without realising. Of how she'd gone to the doctors, told them she was tired, told them her leg was swollen, and he'd sent her for a blood test. Told her she was anaemic, which was common for girls her age, and that her leg pain was musculoskeletal and would go away. Of how she'd gone back, she'd been un-Beca-like in her persistence, that she was scared deep in her gut that something awful was happening. Of how she'd finally, 3 GP visits later, been referred for an X-ray, and oh how it had moved quickly after that. An osteolytic lesion on her x-ray. An urgent direct access appointment with an orthopaedic specialist the next day. An MRI scan, alone and scared in a hospital, loud machine surrounding her, cold in her hospital gown. The bone biopsy, a long thin needle sticking out the front of her leg that she could most definitely feel. The serious face of the doctor a week later as he confirmed her worst fears, and the first time she felt that the ground was falling from underneath her. The words; you have cancer, that she'd heard for the first time a week ago, that she'd said out loud for the first time that afternoon, that she'd barely begun to believe.

And now they were sitting. Sitting, and drinking hot sweet tea, because that's what Mama Beale always made in a crisis, and who has words after a story like that?

Eventually, Chloe asked the question that's been on her mind since Beca started her story; her voice would have creaked from the lack of use had it not been for the hot, sweet tea she'd been sipping.

"What next?"

"Chemo," Beca sighed, "Chemo and then surgery and then more chemo."

"What kind of surgery?" Chloe asked, frightening ideas of one-legged war veterans popping into her head.

"Well, the tumours on my fibula, nowhere else… yet… I guess they can just take that out and it doesn't matter? It doesn't bear weight? I dunno, I mean I don't really understand how you can just take out a part of your leg bone and still be expected to stand up but… I guess it's a thing."

"So… So… You'll still be able to… to dance?" Chloe asked, trying to get her head round the idea of taking out a bone, a bone, something which seemed so essential, taking out a bone from her friend's leg.

"Well… Apparently they take out a couple of tendons too? Because they're attached to the bone? So for a while I won't really be able to lift my foot… but then they take one from somewhere else so I can? I'm not really clear on that whole part. The idea that bones and tendons can be missing from places without changing something is… weird."

"Right," said Chloe, head spinning, ears ringing, because the idea that Beca wouldn't be able to dance for their last year as Bellas was much easier thing to focus on than the fact that she had cancer.

(It's funny, really, how when you're young, and healthy, and no one you know under the age of 80 has ever died, nothing seems insurmountable, not even cancer. It doesn't even occur to you that it could kill your friend, until suddenly it does occur to you, and suddenly that's all there is.)

 

* * *

 

  **Bella bitches of 140A**

House meeting, 6.30. Be there, no excuses.  
17:32

**Stacie <<3**  
I've got a hot date!  
The hunter needs some exercise…  
17:37

**Fat Patricia**  
Maybe I'll be there, or maybe I'm collecting my award  
for best mermaid dancing in Tasmania this evening and  
won't be able to make it  
17:37

No excuses tonight aca-bitches  
Also we all know that's code for sleeping  
with Aubrey and Bumper, respectively, guys.

This shit is serious. I'll see you both then.  
17:42

**Legacy**  
Oh no Chlo! I'll be there.  
Also, definitely did not know there was a code.  
Awww you guys must make such cute couples!  
17:44

**Fat Patricia**  
Calm it Red, don't blow a tit, I'll be there. And then maybe go  
out for a smoothie afterwards and not come back for  
14 hours. Who really knows.  
17:56

**Stacie <<3**  
What does this mean we get best friend's approval Chlo?!  
YAYYYYYY!  
Ok, see you tonight.  
17:59

Chloe sighed as she slipped her phone back in her pocket. She was not relishing the idea of telling the other girls, but Beca had asked her to, and Beca had cancer, and she would. She turned her gaze to the brunette who was sleeping soundly beside her. Apparently 6 digestive biscuits, 3 cups of tea, and the feeling of Chloe's thigh beneath her head were enough to knock Beca out for the count these days. As she slept, Chloe studied her. She didn't look much different. Her face was slightly paler, perhaps, than it had been, and the shadows under her eyes marginally more pronounced then they might have been before the summer. The angles of her face might be slightly sharper, the dip beneath her collar bones slightly deeper. And then Chloe's eyes drifted down to Beca's leg. Covered by the puffy duvet, it didn't look very special. Just a leg like any other leg. But inside it was a tumour, and inside that were cells that were multiplying and multiplying, and, to Chloe's mind at least, ready to spring into action and spread all over the girl's body at any point.

Chloe's tummy sank as she realised the subtle signs she should never have missed. Would never have missed, if she hadn't gone home for the summer rather than stay in Bristol with Beca. If she'd spent the summer with Beca, the girl she'd crushed on since they first met at Fresher's fair two years ago, the girl she'd fallen in love with over Jessie J and Simple minds, instead of with Tom, hometown fuckbuddy extraordinaire.

Sighing again, Chloe gentle lifted Beca's head from her lap, scooched out the way and replaced it with the warm pillow she had been leaning on. Beca stirred only slightly, her face twitching and her arms drawing closer to her chest, before she was still again. Standing up gently, so as not to disturb the mattress, Chloe quietly walked toward the door, opening and closing it as quietly as she could, before going downstairs to speak to the girls.

 

* * *

 

 "Cancer? She has cancer? Our Beca? Has cancer?" Stacie stuttered, before covering her mouth and nose with her hands and taking a deep breath.

"I thought Shawshank seemed a bit less perky than usual, but she's Beca effin' Mitchell, I thought it was just her badass coming out," Amy said, Amyish as always.

Emily, the youngest of the three, said nothing, just sat there, blinking hard and breathing fast but unable to stop the tears overflowing and running silently down her cheeks.

"Yes. Our Beca. She has cancer," Chloe confirmed, hardly aware how she could even be saying these words so confidently.

"Shit," Stacie said softly.

"Yeah," agreed Chloe, "Shit.".

 

Back in her bedroom, Beca was slowly blinking awake. For a second, she forgot. For a second she felt light and happy and warm. And then the pit in her stomach was back, and then she remembered. Remembered telling Chloe. Remembered what she had wanted to be telling Chloe in only a few days from now. Confessing how she felt, because, you see, Beca Mitchel had been in crush with Chloe Beale since the day she met her at Fresher's fair, and in love with the redhead since they had produced their first Varsity final set.

Beca had been planning on asking Chloe Beale out on Halloween. Instead, she'd just told her she had cancer.

_Well_ , thought Beca. _There goes that idea._


	4. This is it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next begins to happen.

When Beca opened her bedroom door, the smell of cookies in the oven filled the air. Chloe always baked when she was stressed (and when she was happy, and when there was more than one person in the house, and just when she felt like it) and her white chocolate chip cookies were Beca’s favourite.

Inhaling deeply, Beca walked along the landing, limping slightly, and slowly made her way downstairs. Somehow, now that she’d told Chloe what was happening, the pain in her leg was worse, almost as if it knew it had nothing to hide any more. She had been expecting it to get worse, had been told she would start needing crutches to get around. She had just been hoping it wouldn’t happen yet.

As she rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs to the open plan living/dining room, with the small galley kitchen off to the left, everyone stopped moving, and four pairs of eyes were suddenly fixed on her.

Chloe was in the kitchen, transferring cookies from the baking tray to a wire rack. Her blue eyes were overflowing with the same concern she’d shown when Beca was coming round from her faint.

Stacie was standing behind Chloe, stirring something on the stove in the small kitchen, her hand paused in mid-air, sauce dripping from the wooden spoon that was hovering over the saucepan.

Emily was laying the table, cutlery in hand, in the process of putting down a fork. Her eyes were red rimmed and her face was puffy but she managed a small smile as she saw Beca.

And Amy, Amy was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, Netflix open on her laptop, connecting the speakers they used when they wall watched TV together.

For a couple of heart beats, everyone was still, looking at Beca, unsure how to react, unsure how to behave now that they knew, and Beca knew they knew, but no one had sad it out loud yet.

“Bring it in, aca-nerds,” Beca smiled, opening her arms. Emily squealed slightly and got to Beca first, slamming into her in an Emily-enthusiastic hug. Amy came next, ruffling Beca’s hair and telling legacy to “get her tall skinny ass out the way,” because “Beca needs my rack confidence”. Stacie came and joined the pile of girls, her head over Fat Amy’s shoulder, her eyes bright with tears. And Chloe crossed her arms and watched, making eye contact with Beca’s navy eyes from the middle of her Bella huddle, slowly shaking her head as she smiled at Beca, who only raised her eyebrows as if to say, ‘what are you gonna do?’.

After a few seconds of this Beca’s instinct to avoid all human contact kicked firmly in.

“Alright, alright girls, back at it, off you pop, things to do, places to go,” she said, wriggling slightly uncomfortably, until one by one all the girls peeled off and went back to their activities. Beca went over the Chloe, wrapped her arms around the taller girl’s waist, and whispered “thanks for telling them,” in her ear. Of course, as she did this, she stole a cookie from the behind the girls back.

No one talked about cancer for the next two hours. They ate dinner together (Stacie’s special pasta sauce with Becca’s favourite shape of pasta), followed by chocolate chip cookies and Buffy, snuggled together on the sofa. The sofa, which was absolutely not big enough for more than 3 people at a squeeze, but that somehow, with Fat Amy and Stacie on the arms, and Beca practically in Chloe’s lap between her and Emily, managed to hold all 5 girls. Beca, inevitably, fell asleep. As soon as Chloe noticed this, she prodded Stacie, who paused the laptop, while Chloe gently shook Beca awake.

“Hey, sleepyhead” she cooed, brushing Beca’s hair from where it fallen over her face.

“Time for bed munchkin,” (Beca wrinkled her nose at this nickname), “Do you wanna brush your teeth?” Chloe or Beca asked each other this every night.

Nodding sleepily, Beca began to get up, too tired to do anything other than sling an arm around Chloe’s waist as they slowly went upstairs.

 

* * *

 

None of the Bella’s were much in the mood to celebrate Halloween that year. The previous year they had just signed the contract on their house for the following year, and all wen out dressed as superheroes to celebrate, even Beca, although not without approximately 19 sarcastic comments about tights and capes en route. They pre-drank watching horror films and, for the first time in any of their university experiences, had taken advantage of the fact that a taxi would take them home without a fare in exchange for their student cards. None of them had been sober enough to navigate an ATM, and they had all looked appropriately shamed when the taxi driver came back the next day to swap their student IDs for his money.

This year, however, there was a sense among the Bella’s that real life was scary enough at the moment, without Halloween, horror films, and inevitably horrendous hangovers added into the mix (the whole house had had a sober November after last year’s debauchery). So this year they instead had a Bella’s dinner at their house. The Bella’s were spread across two houses (fun as it would have been to all live together, there was not a house in the city that would accommodate 10 students), just round the corner from each other, and the Bella’s of 36B joined the Bella’s of 140A for children’s party food, followed by children’s Halloween games. By now, all the Bella’s knew about what was going on with Beca, and they were all determined to have as normal an evening as possible for their miniature captain. They’re efforts also served to distract Beca from her previous plans for the evening, although Chloe looking stunning, even in her cat onesie and with whiskers painted in her face, did not help.

The Bellas were began to clear up the incredibly messy living room (go big or go home was their motto when it came to games). It was suggested that Beca help, to which she replied, “Dude, I have cancer!” and no one was going to argue with that, so she was sitting, folded up on a kitchen chair, DJing the clearing up effort. When it was all done, Chloe flopped on the sofa with a sigh. A few minutes later, a covered-in-flour (having played the, cutting-flour-away-from-a-sweet-and-eating-it game), slightly damp (bobbing for apples), and a not-entirely-sober Beca flopped onto the sofa next to her, and said,

“So I start chemo tomorrow,” and then, more quietly, “wanna come?”.

 

* * *

  

Beca had never had a great relationship with her parents, and, sadly, finding out that she had cancer did little to change that. Beca’s mum had moved the Australia the second she had started university, and in the past 2 years they had only managed to Skype once. Beca had emailed her, telling her what was going on, only to have the message bounce back. She didn’t try again. Beca’s dad was closer to home; he lived in Bristol too, and so was geographically extremely close to Beca, but somehow physical proximity had never translated into emotional intimacy. Beca had been fiercely independent since the tender age of 12, when 12 years of worrying that this time her parents _would_ split up finally came true, and starting university and living with her friends had only served to underscore that independence. First year Beca wouldn’t have allowed anyone to accompany her. She would have thought that having company undermined the fiercely independent exterior she had worked so hard to maintain. She would have got herself to the hospital on the bus, and brought herself home again 3 days later, without telling a soul about what happened.

Luckily, this was third year Beca, and she was sure as hell dragging her best friend along for the ride. The Teenage Cancer Trust had a unit in Bristol where Beca would be able to receive her treatment, and owing to the unique nature of their units, Chloe would be able to stay with her almost all of the time.

 

The girls’ first day at the hospital could only be described as _long_.

First, Beca’s PICC line was placed. The most painful part of this procedure was the local anaesthetic. This was also Beca’s least favourite part because of her aforementioned terror at the sight of a needle. The few minutes the nurse spent numbing the area saw Beca with her right hand firmly squeezed round Chloe’s left, and her face buried in the hair around the redhead’s neck, as Chloe stood in front of her as she lay in the hospital bed. Chloe could only imagine the fear the brunette must have faced when she was getting her tattoos, and shook her head at the thought of baby Beca, sucking it up to get inked. Fortunately having a PICC line would mean fewer needles for Beca in the long run.

Next, Beca was sent for an x-ray, to check that the PICC line was properly in place. Once upon a time, the idea of someone taking a picture of her insides would have been reasonably exciting to Beca, and the idea of an x-ray in which she could see her heart and lungs would have appealed to the side of her which wore thick black eyeliner. By this point, however, many pictures had been taken of Beca’s insides, with half a dozen different types of imaging, and the novelty of “breathe in, and hold your breath” had completely worn off. Especially as Beca really didn’t like what they could see. “I’ll give you a clue, I have cancer,” she pointed out to the poor radiographer who was tasked with persuading her to cooperate.

Eventually, the PICC line was in, it’s location inside her body had been established, and the nurse was giving Beca the first part of her chemo.

“This is it,” Beca said, squeezing Chloe’s hand.

“This is it,” Chloe agreed. And so it began.

Three hours later, Beca was bored. The results and side effects of chemo might sound pretty exciting, but the process itself was _boring_.  Her arm was fixed up to a drip, Chloe had had to go to some meeting with her academic tutor two hours ago, and while there were a few other young people on the ward, Beca wasn’t really feeling up to socialising with the other sick kids yet. She huffed, and looked up at the bag connected to the drip in her arm. _Stupid chemo_ she thought, sticking her tongue out at it.

“Real mature as always, Becs,” Chloe chuckled from the doorway, before bouncing in (did that girl ever not bounce somewhere?) and practically sitting on top of Beca in an attempt to get on the bed with her.

“Dude!” Beca yelled, before shifting over on the bed to make room for Chloe, “you could’ve just asked!”

“Sorry Becs, you were so tiny I thought there must be room for me!” Chloe replied, jabbing Beca gently in the ribs with her elbow.

“Hey, sarcasm’s my thing, get your own,” Beca retorted. And just like that, the boredom was gone.

 

* * *

 

Beca was in the hospital having her treatment delivered for three days. Three days ago, Beca had persuaded Chloe to get the bus to the hospital. After all, she pointed out, she was _fine._ Now, three days later, Beca climbed into the back seat of the taxi Chloe had ordered without protest, immediately curling herself into a ball, knees to her chest, arms wrapped right around them and head on her knees, and slept.


	5. Now I have stupid cancer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang,  
> as usual if you're even reading this please, comment! tell me it's crap and how much you hate it or what's missing or tell me you kinda like it but not that much or really anything. I got kinda stuck on this chapter, sorry it's been a few days. Hope it's ok!  
> Freya x

_The funny thing about cancer is that you feel pretty much fine, until they start trying to do something about it_ , Beca mused to herself, as lay back on her bed, panting slightly, having just thrown up in her bedroom bin.

_A little bit of tiredness, a bit of a sore leg. That was it. I could have managed that!_ she thought, remembering back to Before.

But now she had thrown up three times and it wasn’t even noon yet and she had only had her first treatment two days ago. Now her lips burned like her spit was lemon juice every time she licked them, and cracked and bled seconds later. If she had thought her fatigue was bone deep before, she was wrong, because was fatigue in the deepest depths of her soul. Today, anyway. Tomorrow she might feel a little better. Tomorrow she might get out of bed and watch TV with Chloe on the sofa, instead of watching TV with Chloe in her bed. Today, she was rolling over and going to sleep and hoping it would be tomorrow.

 

* * *

  

Sadly, tomorrow was not much better. _Perhaps this is what being pregnant is like?_ Beca mused, as she sat slumped over the toilet in the one bathroom the Bellas shared. _Not that I’ll ever know_ , she added sourly, although she was unable to dwell on this thought as yet more bile made its way up her throat and her whole body tensed as she retched. Unfortunately, in her mad dash (hop) from her bedroom to the bathroom (thank goodness they were on the same floor), she hadn’t had time to tie her hair up. Her hair, strands of which were now clinging together and covered in stomach acid. Nice. Convinced that there couldn’t even be bile in her belly to throw up now, Beca closed the lid of the loo and flushed it, all without getting up from her position on the floor. She managed to manoeuvre herself onto her hands and knees, and from there used the toilet to pull herself up ( _getting up like a freaking pregnant women_ Beca moaned internally. What was it with the pregnancy stuff today anyway?). Unfortunately, standing up was not a good position for Beca right now. Her leg was hurting, she hadn’t eaten in three days, and she was just beginning to see spots when she felt hands on her arms pushing her gently onto a sitting position on the toilet. She closed her eyes, as if not being able to see would somehow make the room stop spinning.

“Easy there, Becs.”

Chloe’s voice was far too cheerful for this time in the morning, and Beca left her eyes closed. She could hear, however, the sound of the shower being turned on, the opening and closing of the bathroom cabinet, the tap running.

She opened her eyes as she found her arm being lifted from her side and a toothbrush being shoved into her hand.

“Brush your teeth.”

Blinking slowly (it was still the crack of before noon after all) Beca starting brushing her teeth without thinking. Eventually she spat the toothbrush out (still from her position sat on the loo), and looked up at Chloe expectantly.

“What next, _mom_?” she asked hoarsely.

Chloe rolled her eyes.

“Strip and get in the shower.”

“Ooh, bossy Chloe is hot Chloe, very nice,” Beca smirked, not moving.  

At this point Chloe rolled her eyes _and_ _blushed_.

“Shut it, smart arse. You smell like vom, you’ve got sick in your hair and you haven’t washed in three days, now get in the damn shower. Nothing I haven’t seen before if you’ll recall, Becs,” Chloe retorted, grinning like a Cheshire cat as she shut the bathroom door, staying (in Beca's opinion) on the wrong side of it. 

At this point it was Beca’s turn to blush as she stood up, “aren’t you at least going to turn around, Beale?”

“Nope!” replied Chloe, going over to the bathroom mirror.

Beca rolled her eyes again and began undressing. To be fair, this was not an uncommon event. It had become clear within the first few weeks of living with the four other Bellas that although this house was perfect in every way, the only thing it lacked was bathrooms. It was quickly established that the only way to cope with the situation was to abandon all pretence at modesty and have an open door bathroom when people were in the shower, so other girls could still come in and pee slash brush their teeth. This was particularly taken advantage of by Chloe, who liked nothing better than to come and sit on the loo and chat with Beca while the brunette showered and was grateful for the hot water to cover up the inevitable blush she got making conversation with the redhead while _completely naked_.

Chloe was particularly glad of this fact now: only a few minutes after Beca had stepped into the shower there was a loud thud and a groan. Never having had much regard for modesty in the first place, Chloe threw open the shower curtain to see that Beca was now sitting down, her bad leg stretched out in front of her, her weight resting back on her hands, and with a severe pout on her face. She didn’t even try to cover herself any more.

“Hi,” said Chloe, trying not to smile.

“Hey,” replied Beca,

“Want a hand?”

“Nah. Reckon I’ll just stay down here for a while. It’s pretty comfy having a plug hole under your ass. Pass me my shampoo?”

At which point Chloe snorted, passed Beca the shampoo, and started brushing her teeth. And if she brushed them for 5 whole minutes, until Beca had finished washing her hair, so that she happened to be there to help the brunette out of the bath, who was gonna mention it?

Beca, of course.

“Got clean enough teeth there, Beale? You oughta be careful, I hear you can brush the top layer right off.”

For a second, Chloe tried to think of something witty and sarcastic to say in reply, but in the end she just shrugged as she cleaned off her toothbrush, looking down at the water whirling down the sink, and not really understanding why tears were filling her eyes, _again_.

Beca turned the tap off, pulled Chloe to face her, tried to catch her eye as the redhead looked upwards and furiously tried to blink her tears away.

“Hey, Beale, relax. For once in my life I’m not gonna make this difficult for you, ok? I’m gonna let you like, help me, or, whatever. Even if it means public nudity and talking to you when you can see my junk. You just have to promise me one thing, Chlo, ok?” and Chloe finally met the other girl’s eyes, eyelids wide open now, knowing her next blink would send tears cascading down her face, “you have to let someone look after you. Promise me, ok? Cos I’m not so hot at that right now and there’s no way I could cope without my ginger,” Beca’s tone was still light and sarcastic, but her eyes were all navy sincerity.

And there they went, tears down her face, arms round Beca’s neck, a face full of towel as she nuzzled Beca’s turbaned head, the absorbent material sucking up her tears before they had a chance to fall on Beca’s bare shoulders, a muffled “Ok,” mumbled in between.

 

* * *

 

 It had been 2 weeks since Beca’s last cycle of chemo, and although the last 14 days had been a bit of a blur, she was pretty sure Chloe had only left her side for the 20 hours of Bella’s practice there had been in the last 14 days. In fact, not even that, because in the last couple of days Beca had been feeling well enough (and bored enough) to drag her ass out of bed to watch. After the first few days of not eating and throwing up, Beca had woken up on day four with an appetite and enough energy to at least hobble down stairs to watch TV after dinner with the girls. After that, she had settled into a routine of mixing in the morning, napping in the afternoon, and watching TV with the other Bellas in the evening. All with Chloe by her side of course.

Somehow, despite the fact it was now being treated, the pain in her leg was only getting worse, and she had finally admitted defeat and resorted to using crutches to get around, so the Bellas choreography was definitely out, but as Chloe had pointed out on that fateful day at activities day, acapella is “all from our mouths”, so after some gentle persuasion on Chloe’s part, Beca joined in with the singing. Unfortunately, this didn’t go as well as anyone had hoped.

Beca could stand pretty comfortably on her crutches, but the other girls insisted that they sing through the pieces sitting down. Beca huffed, and muttered under her breath about posture and squished diaphragms, but eventually acquiesced after a pleading glance from Chloe.

They settled into a tight circle, the circle they practised in when they were just working on the vocals, the circle they sat in to learn new mixes and work on their harmonies. While singing a set Beca had finished making almost 2 months before, that they had almost perfected the vocals on, that they knew inside and out.

And then they sang it, exactly as they had learnt it, exactly as Beca mixed it 2 months previously, exactly as they had been planning on singing it at Varsity. Exactly as if nothing had changed.

 “Why are we doing this?!”

10 pairs of eyes turned to look at the angry Bella, who was trying to gather her crutches and get up from her chair and out of the circle at the same time.

“Well shortstack, we are an acapella group, singing is kind of our deal,” Amy pointed out helpfully.

“That’s not what I mean! This is all wrong! We’re rehearsing it in a circle as if we’re just learning the vocals when I know you had them down the last time I was here and that was weeks ago. We’re singing this through like _I’m_ going to be singing with you, when you need to be reassigning my solos and covering my part. You’re completely ignoring the choreography, even though you need to work out how to fill the gaps I’m going to leave. You’re singing this like I’m gonna be there, when we all know that I’m not! If this is supposed to make me feel better, congratulations, y’all are doing a really shitty job,” and on this note, Beca stormed out, as quickly as her crutches would allow, leaving 9 stunned Bellas in her wake.

Fortunately, it was 9 Bella’s plus Aubrey Posen, who had given up all pretence of _not_ dating Stacie in the last few weeks, and was present at almost all Bellas practices.

“Much as you all know I _hate_ to disagree with alt-girl, she’s right. Chloe – you go find Beca, make sure she’s ok. CR – you take Beca’s solo in Crazy Youngsters, take a look at the part now. Amy, come here and help me work out which bits of Beca’s part you need to cover. Stacie – you go over the choreography and work out how to take Beca out.”

For a second, nobody moved.

“GO!” yelled Aubrey, and off the Bellas went in a scramble of activity.

 

 

It didn’t take Chloe long to find Beca. She wasn’t great on her crutches yet, and going down stairs on them without someone next to her to break her fall was not something she had been prepared to try for the first time while her eye sight may or may not have been slightly clouded by excess salty water. Chloe found her, therefore, jabbing impatiently at the ‘down’ button for the lift, muttering curses at the elevator (and all its children, if Chloe heard right) for not turning up exactly when she wanted it.

“Hey Becs,” Chloe said cautiously, alerting Beca to her presence so as not the alarm to angry brunette.

“Stupid fucking cancer,” Beca huffed, “doesn’t even let me make a dramatic exit in style.”

“Yeah, it can be a bitch like that,” Chloe agreed, nodding. “If you want, we can walk home, and then I can pretend to have found you there, post-dramatic-exit?”

“Nah. It’s cool. Thanks for the offer though,” Beca shrugged. Giving up on the lift. She turned around and slumped against the wall. Chloe joined her.

“I’m sorry I pushed you to come to rehearsals, Becs.”

“S’okay,” Beca shrugged, “I have cancer. I think there was gonna be shouting sooner or later. Par for the course, right? Should probably apologise to the girls at some point thought.”

The two girls sat in silence for a minute.

“This was meant to be our year, Chlo,” Beca said quietly.

“I know Becs, but - ”

“We were supposed to win Varsity and graduate and start our real lives.”

“I knew, Beca, but -”

“And now I have stupid cancer.”

“Beca! _Next_ year can be our year,” Chloe finally finished.

“Chlo,” Beca turned to face the other girl, “you’re finally graduating this year. It won’t be _our year_ without you.”

“Well see… that’s the thing,” Chloe smiled, oh so carefully tucking Beca’s hair back behind her ear, aware, even if the brunette didn’t seem to be, of just how fragile it was now, “Remember how I spoke to my academic tutor while you were in the hospital?”

“Yeeesss…,” Beca drew out, hoping against hope that her best friend hadn’t done anything stupid like fail _another_ unit just to hang around.

“Well, I was talking to him because… I changed courses, Becs. I’m on the Masters now. I’m doing an MA, and I’m still gonna be in Bristol next year.”

“What?! Chloe that’s awesome! You’ve been talking about transferring to the Masters for ages!” Beca threw her arms round Chloe and whispered in her ear, “I’m so proud of you, Chloe.” Beca squeezed her tight, all annoyance at the Bellas practise forgotten Let's not point out that it was completely typical of Beca to be pleased for Choe that the girl had finally had the confidence to transfer to the masters, rather than be please that her best friend was going to be around for another year, because that would  _not_ be good for her rep.

Chloe blushed. “The great badass Beca Mitchell, proud of someone and admitting it? Just wait till the girls hear about this!”

Beca pulled back abruptly and poked Chloe in the chest, face deadpan as she said, “Just remember, Beale, I know where you sleep at night, and you know no one will suspect the cancer girl.” Chloe’s smile _almost_ faltered… Before it widened to a grain. Sarcastic Beca had been missing for the last couple of days, and the bitch was back.


	6. What do you see when you look at me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There has to be a little angst, I'm sorry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the reviews for the last chapter :) I'm so glad you're enjoying it. It's so exciting knowing that people want to know what happens, and knowing that I'm gonna be the one that tells you (did I tell you I'm new to this writing malarkey?!), so thank you! Also, sorry this chapter is accidentally in the present tense but like, it wouldn't write itself any other way?

Somehow, somehow, it hadn’t been the first thing she’d thought of. It really should have been, in hindsight. Someone says cancer, someone else says chemo, and then _everyone_ thinks _bald_. Everyone imagines that face, the face that looks slightly odd at first glance, that takes a second look and a slightly closer examination to notice that it’s missing eyebrows and eyelashes, their absence accompanied by a headscarf or a beanie or a wig (and no matter how expensive, no matter how well colour matched or style matched to texture matched, you can always tell). Somehow, this whole thought process had just been skipped in Beca’s mind. And so the first time she brushes her hair and sees her whole hairbrush covered in hair is the first time she pictures that face to be her face.

Let’s be real. Beca might have been the alt-girl, she might have started uni dressed in skinny jeans and flannel shirts, with too much eyeliner and holes in her converse, but over the last couple of years she started to care a little more about herself, and some of that has translated into her appearance. She still wears skinny jeans and flannel shirts and what some people would describe as _too much_ eye liner, but now the flannels tend to fit her, and you’re less likely to be able to see her socks through her shoes, and she’s probably done something messily beautiful with her hair. Beca likes her hair. It’s kinda long, it’s kinda curly, it’s not that thick, it’s just kinda ordinary dark brown hair. But Beca likes it. She likes the feel of it down her back when she leaves it down, and she likes the compliments she gets when she braids it, she likes the way it makes her feel sexy when she’s dancing with the Bellas. But it wasn’t until that moment, seeing it there on the brush, that Beca realised how much a part of her identity her hair was.

Beca hasn’t really cried since she got cancer. Big crying wasn’t really her thing. Misty eyes after that Bellas practice, slightly red eyes after a long day, mostly in anger at the complete and utter _fucked up_ ness of her having _cancer_ , but the night that she had told Chloe had been her first and only big, proper, all out, shoulders shaking, nose sniffling, eyelids tingling with salt _cry_. Until now. Until she saw her hair coming out on the brush.

Beca was a very private person. Until now, Beca had been able to choose who knew she had cancer. Despite the way it had slipped out of her, she had _chosen_ to tell Chloe. She had _chosen_ to let Chloe tell the other Bellas. Being over 18, she had even _chosen_ to tell her dad (via email, it should be noted). Beca might not have chosen to have cancer, but she had chosen who she would tell about it. The double whammy of losing her hair and losing her choice hit Beca suddenly, and not for the first time since she was diagnosed, the sheer _injustice_ of the whole situation really dug in, and Beca roars so hard her throat hurts. She throws her hairbrush against her narrow room, not caring that it bounces loudly off the wall she shares with Chloe and suddenly she is pulling and tugging and _wrenching_ at her hair and it comes out with such little resistance that it’s almost disappointing how little effort she needs to put in to be rewarded with handfuls of long, curled, not that thick, kinda ordinary dark brown hair. She can’t stop her hair falling out and she can’t stop people knowing she has cancer but she can do this.

At some point, she becomes aware that Chloe is talking to her, is holding on to her, is grabbing her wrists but gently, gently (because Chloe oh so desperately doesn’t want to bruise those fragile wrists and she knows it’s one of the side effects but she has to _stop her_ ). And then Chloe has Beca’s hands down by her sides and she’s guiding the other girl back to the bed, Beca’s knees buckling as they hit the mattress. She’s unclenching Beca’s fists and gathering up the hair clutched in them, putting it in the bin, pinching up the hair from around Beca’s chest of drawers where she had been standing, putting it in the bin and then taking the bin out of the room, while Beca sits there, silent now, efforts expended, starting into space and contemplating the idea that _everyone’s gonna know_ and _funny looking cancer kid_ are new facets of her existence.

“Hey, hey, hey, you’re ok, just stop, you’re alright Beca, you’re ok-“ Chloe is keeping up her comforting patter as Beca looks up, interrupts her, asks,

“What do you see when you look at me, Chlo?”

Chloe takes a second because, although she barely knows what is going through Beca’s head right now, she knows that this is an opportunity – and potentially one for great harm. She chooses her words carefully.

“I see… I see a DJ. A girl who can make new music out of old music, make songs feel things you never thought they could, make arrangements that turn 10 peoples voices into magic that makes hearts swell and eyes water. I see someone who is independent, who can look after herself, but who looks after the people around her with all her heart, even if she hopes that no one notices, even if she would never admit it. I see your eyes. They’re different colours on different days but they’re always beautiful, blue and full of strength. And sass, when you need it. I see a girl who can say a thousand words with a smirk and a well places eyebrow, and I see my best friend.”

Beca is silent for a moment after Chloe’s big speech before she points out,

“Now all people will see when they look at me is cancer. And that sucks.”

And Chloe wants to tell her that that isn’t true, but she can’t because she would be lying.

“Yeah,” all Chloe can do is agree, “that sucks.”

The girls sit in silence for a moment before,

“But you know what? Fuck them. Fuck THEM, because what the fuck do they know? You are Becca fucking Mitchell, teeny tiny DJ, stunning as they make them, badass extraordinaire, queen of acapella and head bitch of the Barden Bellas, and who are they?” Chloe’s voice is getting louder and angrier now, and she is not one to swear.

And Beca sniffs, and Chloe is worried that her speech hasn’t worked, but then

“Calm it down on the compliments, Beale, your toners showing,” Beca manages to get out, a weak smile, throat slightly hoarse, like someone who just screamed as loud as they could 10 minutes ago, and flatter, not with all of her usual bite, but it’s still enough to make Chloe blush.

But then Beca is serious and she isn’t smiling anymore and any sarcasm has gone from her voice when she says,

“Really, Chlo. Thank you.”

And Chloe pushes Beca away and stands up, shoves Beca’s crutches into her hand and exits the bedroom, yelling for a house meeting with all available head gear to convene in 15 minutes. The Bellas of 140A spend the rest of the evening modelling their surprisingly extensive collection of novelty hats and documenting the entire process on the bigger Bellas group chat. The next day, Beca gets a buzzcut and only protests once when Chloe buys _two_ soft cashmere beanies, one for Beca and one for her, and smiles just a tiny bit when Chloe scoops all her hair up in her beanie too.


	7. I'm not gonna drop dead yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MOSTLY FLUFF YAY CHRISTMAS :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarification: Emily joined the year after Chloe and Beca; she’s in second year and they're in third year, which in the UK is your last year of university (unless you’re doing a masters). They still won World’s the year that Emily joined, they just didn’t have to lose everything first. World’s only happens every 3 years, which is why it isn’t happening again this year, just Varsity, which is my made up version of the ICCAs. Also, accidentally cut the bit where Beca explains she's interrupting the year, and starting it again in September. 
> 
> Enjoy the fluff guys :) the hot water bottle thing is how i kept warm in 3rd year when my room was 2/3 windows.

One of the things they never tell you about having cancer is that it’s _boring_. It’s like when you’re at school. There’s that awful paradox, especially if you have the kind of parents who both go to work every day and want to do everything they can to keep you in school. If you’re ill enough, really, genuinely ill enough, for your mum or dad to take the day off work, or beg some poor other person to take care of their sick child, you’re too ill to really make use of all the time afforded to you, and you suddenly realise just how many hours you spend in school. You realise then that maybe going to school and being with your friends all day wasn’t so bad after all, if you could breathe through your nose or your head wasn’t pounding or you didn’t feel sick. That was how Beca felt about having cancer. Not long ago, her days were full – with Bellas’ practise, with reading, and writing essays, and more Bellas’ practise, and socialising, and napping (always napping, even before she’d got ill), and she’d wished for more time to sit and mix and chill and do nothing. Now she had _all the time in the world_ and all she did was lay on her bed, or perhaps the sofa, and allow Netflix to play episode after episode of whatever her TV show of the week was, and remind herself that Netflix probably didn’t have bored out of their skull cancer patients in mind when the judgemental ‘are you still watching?’ message popped up. But then suddenly she was picking a name out of a hat for Secret Santa, and she realised Christmas was coming, and she had an idea. Navigating to a well-known social networking website, Beca got to work.

 

* * *

It was the 18th December, it was just after 8.00am, and Emily Evangeline Junk was wide, wide awake and bouncing inside, aching to get out of bed. Because today? Today was Christmas, and she wanted to see if Santa had come. Unable to contain herself any longer, Emily finally got out of her warm, snuggly duvet, put her Christmas onesie on _over_ her pyjamas (student house, draft, chilly etc.), and crept downstairs, expecting to make herself a mug of hot chocolate and wait on the sofa, bright eyed and bushy tailed, for the other Bellas to get up.

Except, what she found was… Beca. The famous Beca Mitchell, the person Emily had been _so_ keen to meet when she had been a fresher last year, who had made the words Emily had scribbled in a cheap reporters pad into a legit-sounding pop song, who was single handedly responsible for the Bellas’ sound… was curled up in a teeny tiny ball on the green striped sofa of the Bellas’ sitting room. Noticing that the older (smaller, frailer) girl didn’t have a blanket over her, Emily _tried_ , she tried _so hard,_ to walk over to her without making a sound, hoping just to tastefully drape a blanket over the other girl and retreat upstairs, but this was Emily Junk. Two steps towards the older Bella and Emily, who was still not quite used to the length of her limbs and the size of her feet, and Emily had banged into the small coffee table which currently bore a miniature plastic Christmas tree and 4 haphazardly wrapped presents. _Luckily_ for said Emily Junk, she managed to not actually knock over the Christmas tree, but the bang and her subsequent hiss of pain were enough to wake up the lightly sleeping Bella on the sofa, who looked up.

“Hey, Em,” Bella croaked, and Emily froze inside.

Emily Junk was an optimist. She was a ray of sunshine, the voice of idealism, and true believer in happy endings. And she did not for the life of her know how to talk to someone, barely 15 months older than her, who had cancer. So far, that hadn’t really been a problem: Chloe was almost permanently attached to Beca’s side, and if she wasn’t there then Fat Amy was, or Stacie, and the pressure was off. But just the two of them, alone? Her and her idol-cum-housemate-cum-friend _with cancer_? Emily hadn’t worked that one out yet. Emily had not yet learnt the golden rule: just because you have cancer, _doesn’t mean you can only talk about cancer._

“Hi!” Emily squeaked, (yes _squeaked_ , because she might be 11 feet tall but the girl could still squeak), “sorry I woke you!”

Beca shook her head, yawning slightly as she said, “don’t worry about it, I didn’t mean to fall asleep anyway. I’m gonna head back upstairs to bed.” Beca got up, stretching her arms over her head as she did so, and turned round to pick a small pile of envelopes off the sofa, putting them under the Christmas tree.

“Relax, legacy,” she said, as she walked past a still frozen Emily, patting her on the shoulder and giving it a squeeze, “I’m not gonna drop dead yet,” and she left with a grin.

And with that she trudged up the stairs for another 4 hours sleep ( _minimum_ ).

 

 

_Six_ hours later Beca ventured out of her bedroom and downstairs again (envelopes clutched firmly in hand), to discover that Christmas was in full swing: Chloe and Stacie were in the kitchen, all the windows open and red in the face (with an absolute rule that only two people were allowed in the kitchen at any one time, and those two people should always be Stacie and Chloe; this rule had been implemented after last year’s Christmas Dinner in which Amy burned the duck and Beca had knocked a tray of roast potatoes on the floor: _never again_ ), and Amy and Emily were sitting on the sofa watching a Muppets Christmas Carol on Amy’s laptop.

“Shortstack!” Amy yelled, announcing Beca’s presence to the other girls (to everyone in the neighbouring houses too no doubt; thin walls).

“Merry Christmas Beca!” Emily said, exactly as enthusiastic as could be expected, given that it was Christmas and she loved Beca.

“Merry Christmas legacy,” Beca replied, holding out her arms and trying not to fall over as the younger girl hurtled into her embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Emily whispered in Beca’s hair, out of hearing of the other Bellas.

“Don’t be sorry Em, you’re doing great,” Beca replied, putting her hands on the older girls shoulders, and smiling at her seriously for a moment before,

“Right losers, when are you gonna feed me?”

The next two hours were spent thinking about only one thing: eating. Stacie and Chloe had, once again, cooked a feast. They had the works: roast duck (because turkeys are a) huge, b) expensive, c) gross), duck-fat-roast-potatoes and Proper Gravy (Stacie and Chloe were particularly proud of these); pigs in blankets; and, pretending to be healthy, steamed carrots and Brussel sprouts. Despite her recent lack of appetite, Beca managed to eat something of everything, and the glow of pride and pleasure in Chloe’s eyes at the sight of her empty plate was worth the slight stomach ache and mild nausea that accompanied this feat.

Leaving the washing up for later (of course), the girls dragged their stuffed and sleepy bodies over to the sofas to gather round their miniature Christmas tree; presents.

Emily got Fat Amy a teddy bear covered with the Australian flag, which was such an Emily present to buy that Amy guessed it right away: “You know, I’ve got a collection of beanie babies in Tasmania worth three million dollars, but this is alright, thanks Legacy”.

Amy got Stacie a strap on (“I knew the aca-Nazi would be a bottom”); Stacie grinned, of course, completely unphased, and replied “wouldn’t you like to know?” with a wink, giving everyone something to think about, along with some not necessarily welcomed images.

Beca gave Emily a CD, complete with album art; the professionally produced version of Flashlight, as well as a recording of their World Championship winning performance the previous year, and a few new mixes that Beca had made for Emily. Beca hadn’t been going out much (not least because they lived on the top of a _huge_ hill, and everything was at the bottom), but the tears in Emily’s eyes suggested she appreciated the present more than any gift from a shop.

Stacie gave Beca a kettle (confusingly) and then, making more sense, a hot water bottle. “So you don’t have to come all the way downstairs when you’re cold; you can just keep boiling the same water in your room!”) which Beca truly appreciated; even without having cancer, their student house was _cold_ and Beca’s room was 2/3 windows.

At this point, it was becoming evident that _no one had Chloe_. Which means… Chloe picked herself?

“Chlo, did you miss the memo in secret santa where if you get your own name, you PUT IT BACK?! Now you don’t have a present!” Beca pointed out in exasperation, rolling her eyes at her best friend’s apparent oversight.

Rolling her eyes right back, Chloe pointed out: “I _know_ Beca; I wanted to pick myself! This way, I got to give you all presents!” at which point she reached into the bag none of them had noticed was at her feet, and brought out 4 identical, perfectly wrapped packaged. 100% Chloe Beale.

“They’re all the same, so you all have to open them at the same time, ok?” Chloe pointed out, and the girls followed her instructions, each eying the other progress to try and keep in sync. Quickly getting fed up of this (admittedly slow) tactic, Amy suddenly ripped her present out, holding up a T-shirt that said ‘FAT PATRICIA’ on one side and ‘BELLA OF 140A’ on the other. Seeing what Amy was holding, the other’s quickly unwrapped their shirts: Emily’s said ‘LEGACY’, Stacie’s said ‘ACA-WIFE’ (which actually _did_ make Stacie blush and Chloe smile) and Beca’s which said ‘BECA EFFIN MITCHELL’. All the girls puled their t-shirts on (over their assorted Christmas pyjamas), and Chloe did the same, pulling a shirt (which simply said ‘CHLOE’ – she’d run out of imagination by that point) over her head, beaming as she looked round of at the girls.

“Well… great minds think alike, which is lucky for all you nerds,” Beca said, pretending that her eyes weren’t stinging slightly, pulling the thick envelopes from under her where she had been slightly sitting on them, and handing them out to their respective owners.

Inside each was a mini photobook, cataloguing the time that each of the Bella’s had known Becca (thank you, Facebook), but all of them ending with the same four photos: the Bellas, on stage at the World Champtionship; the 5 of them round the table at their very first house dinner (pasta, and squished together with half of Amy’s face cut off as she tried to take the picture); everyone at the Varsity regionals (Beca hadn’t sung, but she had watched; and the Bellas had of course won, as they had done the previous two years, and although Beca wasn’t wearing the uniform Aubrey had _insisted_ they take a picture all together); and the 5 of them squished on the sofa, this time Stacie’s face half cut off and Beca in her beanie but all together, and all smiling.

“Don’t say I never do anything for y-,” Beca began to say, desperate to fill the slightly awkward (to her) silence that accompanied the girls opening her presents – but she was cut off when four Bella’s descended on the tiny DJ, and smothered her in a hug. Somehow, that time, she didn’t mind.

 

* * *

 

"Real" Christmas came 7 days later: just Beca and Chloe, snuggled on the sofa, marathoning Chistmas Movies, eating white chocolate chip cookies and Indian takeaway: quiet, peaceful, and perfect.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the calm before the storm.


	8. Yes, Becs. My boobs just talked.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi gang,  
> I deleted the last not-a-chapter because my heart can't cope with the lack of continuity of having a random not chapter in the middle. However, if any of you want to email me to chat about how shit it is when someone you know and/or love and/or care about has cancer, hit me up at captainfireflyfreya [at] gmail [dot] com. Here's looking at you, Genna. Extra points to whoever tells me which scene I'm copying.
> 
> Also, I don't have a beta, so if there are mistakes, let me know please! they're all mine.

It was New Year’s Eve in the Bellas household. Beca and Chloe were still the only Bellas in the house, although Stacie was with Aubrey somewhere else in Bristol, and would be coming back to the house on the 2nd January; being a medical student meant exams, exams, exams come January.

Becca and Chloe’s plans for the day were not extravagant: in the day time, they would continue their usually rhythm of Chloe studying or reading while Beca mixed in the morning, Chloe wasting time on the internet while Beca napped in the afternoon. In the evening, Stacie and Aubrey were coming round for dinner, before they (and Chloe, in theory, but whether she would actually leave Beca’s side was yet to be determined) went to a New Year’s Eve party that the other Bella house was hosting.

Beca had had her 3rd round of chemo just before Christmas, just after the other girls had left. The fatigue was hitting the small brunette hard: not everyone was so exhausted when they had chemo, she knew, but somehow, she was. She had lost some weight, although Chloe was constantly (but kindly) trying to encourage her to eat; Chloe had more time on her hands as it was the holiday, and the girl _loved_ to bake and cook, so she was enjoying spending time shopping and cooking to make meals Beca might actually want to eat. For dinner that night, she was planning on cooking Beca’s favourite: vegetable lasagne with garlic bread, with panna cotta for pudding.

The morning had gone as usual, although Beca had seemed to spend even more time than usual staring into space, rather than mixing. She was covered in blankets, with just one arm poking out to manipulate the software. Chloe, of course, insisted on listening to the mix before she went to make them lunch, and was surprised when it didn’t seem quite up to Beca’s usual standard. Something about it wasn’t quite right, something didn’t quite sit. But, as Beca’s body was being poisoned every few weeks, this could hardly be surprising.

The girls were only having an even lighter lunch than usual that day; Chloe knew she would eat a lot in the evening, and Beca really _wanted_ to be able to eat a lot in the evening, so Chloe poured them both bowls of cereal to eat while they watched an episode of Buffy. Half way through the episode, Chloe realised that Beca was in danger of throwing milk all over herself: she had fallen asleep, her barely touched cereal still in her hand. Shaking her head at the girl’s clumsiness, even in her sleep, Chloe grabbed the bowel before the milk was spilled, and headed to the kitchen to wash up and get ready for dinner. Beca could sleep on the sofa that afternoon.

 

* * *

  

Chloe happily whiled away the next four hours cooking: she had roasted and peeled the aubergines and peppers; toasted pine nuts; made white sauce, made the panna cotta and put it in the fridge to set… When she had finally finished sprinkling the last of the parmesan on the last layer of lasagne, she slipped her headphones off, untied her apron strings, and just stood for a minute.

Chloe loved her time in the kitchen. She loved to cook when none of the other girls were around (because she loved them, but there is just not room in a galley kitchen for more than one body to be comfortable). She loved to close the door, shut out the world, put some music on (using her Bluetooth headphones if, as now, Beca was asleep), and just concentrate on cooking for a few hours. On doing something productive with her hands which, at the end of it, gave her delicious and nourishing food to eat. The kitchen, with music, was Chloe Beale’s happy place, where she forgot about studying, or her family, or how her _best friend had cancer – Beca._

Beca didn’t usually sleep for this long, even in the afternoon, even now.

Chloe rushed out the kitchen, apron strings flapping behind her, so glad that in their open plan house the sofa was only 5 feet away from the kitchen door.

“Beca? Beca!” Chloe yelled, no longer worried about waking her friend up, hoping to do just that, in fact, rushing to the bundle of duvet and blanket and beanie that was Beca curled up on the sofa.

Beca didn’t reply.

Chloe could hardly see her face – she threw the blankets off – “No Chlo, I’m cold,” came a weak protest, but she wasn’t, Beca was hot, she was _HOT._

Swearing, Chloe raced upstairs, going up the stairs two at a time, using her hands to stop herself from falling over, all the way up two flights to the bathroom, grabbing the digital thermometer Stacie had insisted the house invest in when Beca had first got ill, flying back down the stairs, almost tripping over herself in her desperate desire to get to Beca, to get to her, to get to her quickly, _now_.

“Shhh shhh Becs,” she tried to murmur, tried to keep up her usual low, slow, soothing patter, but her voice was high and her breath was catching and there was a hitch in her throat as she smoothed the other girls hair away, put the thermometer in her ear, pressed the button, waited those agonising 5 seconds to hear the beep, while Beca pointed out “I don’t feel great, Chlo…”

38.6.

“FUCK”

Chloe tried, she tried so hard to keep calm, alone in the house with a burning up Beca who was barely awake, alone, without a car. What should she do what should she do what should she do –

Stacie. Stacie would know.

Grabbing her phone, her hands were shaking too much to type in her password but thankfully a thumb print is always a thumb print. She unlocked the phone, held down the home button, instructed Siri to call Stacie, all keeping one hand on Beca, one hand on her face, stroking her hot cheeks, looking at her drowsy eyes.

“ _Chlo?_ _Chloe? Chloe, What’s wrong?_ ” Chloe had barely noticed Stacie answer the phone, she was shaking now, shaking all over, her whole body vibrating with adrenaline and anxiety and-

“Beca, it’s Beca, she’s hot, she’s hot but she was covered in blankets, and she’s sleepy, she’s even sleepier than usual, Stacie, HELP!”

“ _Ok Chloe. Calm down. Did you find the thermometer we bought?”_ Unlike Chloe, Stacie's voice was calm and quiet and even, Aubrey’s voice was in the background, asking her girlfriend what was going on, and Stacie was replying, telling her to have her phone ready, have her phone ready, but all that was entirely lost to Chloe.

“Yes! Yes, I took her temperature, it’s 38.6, what does that mean?”

“ _Ok Chloe. You have to stay calm now, ok? Aubrey and I are coming over in her car right now, and we’re gonna take Beca to the hospital. You need to try and help her walk upstairs. We’re gonna be with you in five minutes and I’m gonna stay on the phone with you.”_

“Ok,” suddenly, Chloe stopped shaking. She took a deep breath. She had things she needed to do. She needed to get Beca upstairs. Putting the phone on speaker, she set it down on the coffee table.

“ _Talk to me Chlo, what are you doing?”_

“Hey Becs, we gotta get upstairs, ok babe?” Chloe said, ignoring Stacie for the moment, pulling duvets and blankets off of Beca, pulling off her woolly beanie and barely feeling the wince in her stomach Beca’s bare head usually brought.

“Ok…,” Beca mumbled, pushing the blankets off Chloe and standing up, only to sway and sit back down again a second later.

“Slowly Bec, you’ve been lying down all day, there’s no blood in your head,” Chloe reminded her.

“S’always blood in my head, Beale… I’m Beca effin Mitchell,” Beca mumbled, making Chloe smile through her tears as she took both the brunettes hands, helping her to stand up, grabbing her shoulders while the Beca’s blood pressure adjusted to the change in position.

Keeping one hand on Beca, Chloe turned round and grabbed the phone from the coffee table, tucking it into the top of her bra,

“We’re going up stairs now Stace,” she said, knowing the other girl could still here her,

“ _Great, that’s great guys,”_ Stacie’s voice came from Chloe’s cleavage.

“Chloe, am I delirious or did your boobs just talk?” Beca asked, becoming more and more aware as her brain began to wake up properly.

Chloe laughed, but she could have cried. “Yes, Becs. My boobs just talked. Now we need to get you upstairs and Stacie and Aubrey are gonna pick us up, ok?”

Slowly the two girls made their way up the narrow staircase, up to the floor of Beca’s room and the front door. Only a minute or so after they had made it up, Beca leaning against the wall, Chloe hovering next to her, ready to catch her at any moment, Stacie's key was in the door and the tall brunette was ushering the two other girls out and into the back seat of Aubrey’s car.

The drive to the hospital was almost silent, Aubrey expending every ounce of her energy on driving there as quickly but safely as possible. She pulled into a taxi space, allowing Stacie, Beca and Chloe to pile out the car, while she looked for somewhere to park.

Beca was very sleepy again; one arm was slung up around Chloe’s shoulder, while Chloe’s was round the smaller girl’s waist, part holding her up, walking slowly while Stacie ran ahead.

Getting into A&E, Stacie froze momentarily at the scene surrounding her. It was New Year’s Eve, granted, but it was only 6.30pm, and the waiting room was full with drunk people. Bleeding drunk people, yelling drink people, passed out with mascara running down their face drunk people, but as far as Stacie could tell, everyone here was drunk.

She saw a triage nurse with a clipboard approaching the waiting room, ready to call the name of the next patient, but Stacie grabbed him first, started pulling him away, gabbling as she went

“My friend is having chemo and I think she’s neutropenic and her temperature is 38.6 and she’s this way and we have to hurry!” 

 

 

 

Everything happened very quickly after that. Stacie and the nurse showed up, somehow having acquired a wheelchair, and shoved Beca into it. She was taken to Resus, while Stacie and Chloe were shown to the waiting room, where they prodded and poked her, asked her questions, took her blood and gave her fluids, all while she sat on a hospital bed in her pyjamas, wondering what the fuck was going on.

Eventually, having just been told she was going to be admitted and then left alone for hours by the doctors (15 minutes), three pale faces poked round the curtain of the cubicle she was in, swiftly followed by the rest of the three, relieved, Bellas.

Beca’s face momentarily lit up at the sight of her friends, and then fell.

“Sorry for ruining New Years guys,” she muttered, and it may have been _her_ signature move, but Beca got three eye rolls in response.

 

* * *

   

Beca was in the hospital for 4 days. They never did find the source of the infection, but they pumped her veins choc-full with antibiotics and fluids and goodness knows what else.

After 4 days her temperature was finally down, her white blood cells were finally up (just), and with strict instructions to drink _lots_ (of boiled and cooled water, ugh), and continue taking oral antibiotics, Beca was finally allowed home.

And boy was she glad to be going. Because it had been an emergency admission, Beca hadn’t been able to go to the Teenage Cancer Trust unit that she usually went to for chemo, where there were young people and fun nurses and games’ stations. That meant she was on a general adult ward, boring and white-walled and nowhere near as fun. Because her immune system was so weak, Beca was in a side room, and everyone had to put on aprons and gloves and even masks to come in and do anything, even just to say hello. It was lonely, and more importantly for Beca, it was _boring_. It seemed bizarre to Beca that she went from being in her own room where everything was cleaned before entering, to being allowed to go home with Chloe and Stacie (and Aubrey, who could not be persuaded to go home for love nor money), but she was not about to complain when she finally walked out of her room, holding Chloe’s hand (that wasn’t weird, it wasn’t weird, they were friends), and towards _home_.

 

* * *

  

 Beca went straight to bed when she got home, but Chloe, Stacie and Aubrey stayed up and gathered in the kitchen for wine and debriefing. It’s scary having cancer, but it’s also terrifying having a friend who has cancer, and sometimes you just need to drink wine and wonder how the fuck this came to be your life.

 

* * *

 

 A couple of hours later, Chloe came up to Beca’s bedroom, popping her head round the doorway, expecting to see the brunette fast asleep, but Beca was lying on her back, still awake. Chloe retreated, crept to her bedroom, changed into her pyjamas (decided her teeth probably wouldn’t fall out if she didn’t brush her teeth just this once) and returned back to Beca’s room, crawling up the bed beside her and throwing herself under the duvet. She joined Beca, lying on her back, both girls with their arms over the covers, hands only an inch apart, and then, by mutual agreement, clasped tight.

“We can’t do this without you, Becs,” Chloe said, softly, holding their clasped hands above their heads and looking at them, Beca’s small and pale, her’s bigger, pinker.

“Yes you can, Chlo. You can, but you won’t have to. Not if I have any say in it”

And with that Beca took her hand back, turned over, her back to Chloe. Chloe stayed, still staring at the ceiling.


	9. This actually isn't the first time you've had some of my confidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda a short chapter after the last long one, but hopefully a good one :) I /love/ getting your feedback. It makes writing this worth it and it makes me so happy. Thank you so much. I'm sorry if there are reviews I haven't replied to - I have exams and I'm horribly busy and definitely shouldn't be writing but hopefully will get round to replying to everyone soon :) Thanks gang. xxxx

Since she had received her first set of decks from her dad when she was 13 (the spoils of divorced-parent-guilt), Beca had mixed music. Her first mixes had been pretty clumsy; two songs only, with the beats slightly mismatched, but the proud product of hours hunched over her equipment. Now, 7 years later, her mixing was the skill Beca was proudest of, and the foundation of her Bella’s legacy. It was unsurprising, therefore, that this was how Beca wanted to leave her personal legacy. And so, in the middle of the night, when no curious Bellas would walk into her room for a chat, no enthusiastic Legacy to beg to be taught how to mix, and without Chloe’s blue eyes of concern, Beca made mixes. Mixes for people. Mixes to speak for her when she wasn’t around to talk any more. Because honestly, Beca was scared.

It all sounded so simple. There’s a tumour in her leg. She has chemo to shrink it, they take the whole freaking bone out, a little bit more chemo to mop up anything left over and, Bob’s your uncle, she’s cancer free. Because medicine is pretty clever these days, and cancer in something so removable as a bone couldn’t possibly kill you. Everything was going to be fine. And that’s what Beca said, that’s how she felt, in the day time, with her friends around her. With Chloe in the kitchen baking cookies, with Legacy curled up on the sofa, all 8’ foot of her (it seemed), scribbling lyrics in her notebook. With Stacie dancing round the kitchen with her hands on her boobs, and Fat Amy telling impossible stories about boxing kangaroos.

But her recent hospital visit had scared her. It had scared her how ill she’d been, without really feeling that much worse. It had scared her that, if Aubrey hadn’t had a car, if they hadn’t lived so close to the hospital, Chloe would have had to ring 999, to ask for an ambulance, to see her be taken away in flashing blue lights. It had scared her, being in that room on her own, nurses coming in with their masks and aprons to give her medicine to treat an infection they couldn’t even localise.

At home, they didn’t talk about it. They didn’t talk about the things they sometimes googled, by themselves, in their rooms, when they were alone. The morbidity and mortality rates of chemotherapy induced neutropenia. The fact that Beca was one of less than 100 people in the country who had this particular flavour of disease. The fact that, of those 100, 50 of them would not be alive 5 years after their diagnosis. The fact that the treatment Beca was having meant that she would never get pregnant, or have children, which was somehow something that never really mattered until suddenly it did. When the Bellas were together, having dinner, watching TV, singing, they didn’t talk about the fact that this could kill Beca. Because talking about it might make it real, and no one was risking that. And so they talked about set lists, and nationals, and coursework and what’s for dinner and which Buffy episode and and and -

But at night, in the dark, when there was no one else to drown out the voices in her head, the what if’s and maybe’s, the 50% survival rates and the chances it would metastasize, Beca would try and go to sleep, and then she would dream about what it would be like to die. And then she would wake up, heart pounding and breath quickened, and make music. Even when her bones were tired and her head was hurting, her lips were cracked and she glowed pale in the moonlight, she would wrap herself in her blanket, shove a beanie over her head for warmth, and shuffle over to her desk. And she would mix her legacy. It was harder now, than it used to be. The chemo and the exhaustion made her head fuzzy, made it harder to see the links, harder to weave the strings to make the masterpiece, but luckily, time was something Beca had a lot of these days. In one sense. 

 

 

This particular night, Beca looked up from her laptop to the sound of Fat Amy (and it could only be Fat Amy, with that level of ungrace), stumbling over one of the many pairs of shoes left in the hall. Slipping her headphones off her head, and wrapping her blanket snugly round her shoulders, she padded softly over to the door and stuck her head out.

“Alright out there Amy?”

“I’m fine I’m fine, just went to get a smoothie!”

Beca rolled her eyes. One day, Amy would come up with a new lie to tell for when she went off to spend time with/sleep with Bumper. Until then, the girl gave the impression that she drank a lot of smoothies. The fact that it was 2am apparently didn’t deter her healthy drinking habits.

“What are you doing up anyway, Fatigued Beauty?

“Oh, you know, just having cancer.”

“Where you throwing up?”

“No, Amy, I’m not throwing up”

“I mean, if you did want to tell me what you’re doing, share something with your best housemate, your best friend, I can keep a secret like a pro. It was well known in Tasmania that the key to my safe of secrets was kept firmly up my bum”

“What? It’s… It’s nothing, Amy, it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, so you’re not up making mixes to leave us in secret folders accompanied by letters in case you die?”

“What?! What letters-“

“Oh come on, Beca. You know we do that thing all the time where I borrow your laptop and watch films on your external hard drive, and you pretend to stay asleep in that big ole bed of yours? I saw your letter to Chloe! And you know, just because you have cancer doesn’t mean you can’t ask her-“

“Amy!”

“Come on, Beca. I mean, I know you’re an emotionally stunted hobbit but if you’re scared, you can talk to us! You can at least talk to Chloe. And why wouldn’t you tell us that you like her?”

“Because! Because if Chloe thought for one second that I had it in mind that I might do anything other than beat this bullcrap, she would lose her shit. I’m not blind, Amy. I can tell she’s barely holding it together as it is without her thinking I’ve given up or some shit, as if whether or not you fight cancer is about whether or not you tried hard enough, or whether your garner enough optimism to physically kill the cancer cells, and whether you can smile on the mornings you’re vomming up your dinner and you don’t even have eyelashes to catch the tears! And why wouldn’t I tell you that I like her? Because you would have encouraged me to ask her out, and who the fuck wants to go out with this?” Beca finished, her voice raised, cheeks pink, tears in her eyes almost out of breath, almost alarmed herself how she had gone to calmly mixing her inheritance to yelling at Amy down the hallway.

“Beca. You’re Beca effin Mitchell. You function despite being almost half the size of a normal human being. You’ve got this. I mean. The cancer and the Bloe thing. Like, do you need some of my confidence? Cos I could take mine down a notch.”

“Yeah, OK.” Beca tried to go with this, tried to feed off Amy’s utterly unphased-ness in the face of a shouting housemate with Bella.

“I mean, this actually isn’t the first time you’ve had some of my confidence,” Amy points out as she beings to rub first her own arms, and then Beca’s”.

“It’s not?” Beca asked, watching carefully where exactly Amy rubbed to get this confidence.

“No, you had some of my rack confidence after Red told us what was going on,” Amy said, and Beca was alarmed to see that her hand was reaching round to her arse now.

“No no no, I don’t want butt confidence, I have enough, I have enough!” Beca began to shriek, as Amy lifted the girl over her shoulder (hands all over Beca’s own butt in the process) and dumped the smaller girl in bed.

“Go to sleep, Shawshank. Mixes can wait till morning, and so can telling Beale that you love her,” Amy said, throwing the duvet completely over Beca’s head and turning to leave.

Unbeknownest to Beca and Amy, the work of telling Chloe about the brunette’s feelings was already done for her.  Next door to Beca’s room, forgotten in the sleepy haze of 3 in the morning, a certain redhead lay wide awake, body barely moving as her heart thumped and her mind raced.

_Beca’s scared she’s dying?_

_Beca likes me back?_

**_Beca likes me back?!_ **


	10. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much guys :) I'm sorry it's getting longer between chapters. I so want to post quicker because I want you guys to know what happens, but I am also a medical student with exams. So, c'est la vie.  
> As usual, I have no beta so any mistakes are mine! Thank you so, SO much for the reviews and kudos and anything else - they're the things that keep me writing. If there's anything you want to see, let me know. Also, 10 points to whoever tells me what Harry Potter scene I'm stealing from. 
> 
> Thanks gang. Enjoy.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

That’s what Chloe had done about overhearing Beca’s conversation with Fat Amy. It had been three whole weeks: the days were getting shorter, the nights were getting longer, Varsity Sectionals was in only a week’s time, and more importantly Valentine’s day was TOMORROW, and what had Chloe done about the fact that the girl she was one hundred percent completely in love with also had feelings for her?

Nothing.

For Ms. Chloe Get-Up-And-Go, Ambitious, I-do-what-I-want Beale, this was unacceptable.

Chloe was meditating on her own uselessness as she sat in the back of the taxi that was taking her and Beca to the hospital to have her 5th, penultimate (before the surgery), chemo. Beca was curled up asleep on the other side of the back seat, leaving Chloe to mope as she considered pathetic fallacy, the pointlessness of GCSE English, and the way the raindrops collected but didn’t seem to get any bigger as they ran down the taxi window.

She needed to do something. Something big. Some big, romantic gesture. Something Beca would pretend to hate but would really love. She knew she could get the girls on side – hadn’t Amy said that she should have told them? Hmm. Perhaps music was the way to Beca’s heart. But Beca had never been great at being the centre of attention, so a performance in her honour didn’t seem quite the right thing. A song, perhaps? Recorded and given just to Beca?

Chloe’s musings were interrupted as the taxi slowed to a stop, pulling up outside the hospital building. Although the hospital itself looked pretty ordinary on the outside, Beca came the extra few miles to go to this one as it was the home of a Teenage Cancer Trust ward. And that meant Chloe could stay with Beca for her whole chemo – and that they could play on the PlayStation, cook whatever food Beca was feeling up to, whenever she wanted it, and that they weren’t surrounded by old people. Chloe was a nice person, but old people were a) smelly and b) sad, and Chloe could do without their sadness on top of everything else.

Chloe shook her head, reached out, gently shaking Beca awake, getting out the car, going round to the brunette’s side to hand her her crutches, help her out. Chloe would work out how to ask Beca out one day, but right now, this day, she was just going to look after her.

 

* * *

  

Valentine’s day came and went: the previous two years of uni, the Bellas had celebrated Valentine’s day exclusively with each other; those that were in relationships might do something special with their other half the day before or after (and Chloe knew for a fact that Stacie was taking Aubrey to that fancy new Italian place by the union, and that Aubrey was taking Stacie ice skating), but the day itself was reserved for spending time with the other Bellas, so that no one felt bad or sad or left out just because of their relationship status. This year, celebrations were delayed by 2 days due to Beca’s stint in the hospital, but as soon as she was back they had a candle lit dinner at number 36 (the other Bellas’ house had a slightly larger table and more chairs), and if Beca had been wrapped in a blanket and had barely touched her food, nobody had commented; she was smiling and talking and that was all that really mattered.

 

* * *

 

 And before any of them knew it, it was time for the Varsity Sectionals. For most people, it was considered an absolute done deal that the Bellas would win: they had used one of Beca’s mixes (of course) and between that stunning arrangement, Chloe’s choreography skills, and the absolute discipline instilled in the girls by the temporary return of Aubrey Posen as a coach, their performance was perfection. It was expected to be the highlight of the event, and it delivered on all expectations.

The competition had taken place in Birmingham, and the girls (including Beca) had driven down in the union minibus, with Fat Amy driving as always – she was the only one licensed to drive anything bigger than a car. Beca had been having a good day, and, despite being wrapped up (as she always was these days) in an endless pile of fleecy blanket, she joined in with the girls’ singing. Perhaps she was quieter than she once had been, but she sang and snacked on Haribo and popcorn with the best of them.

Once they arrived at the auditorium in Birmingham, Beca and Aubrey had had to leave the girls – of course Aubrey had come with them. Technically, as the Bellas’ coach, she could have stayed with them, but - and she would go to her grave without admitting this, except perhaps to Stacie - she wanted to look after Beca for the time she would have to be separated from Chloe.

Aubrey had been with Stacie on New Year’s, had heard Chloe’s voice on the phone when she had found Beca so hot, had seen the whiteness in her girlfriend’s face as she heard what Beca’s temperature had been and had so calmly explained to the redhead that they needed to get Beca to the hospital _now_. She had watched Chloe fight back tears as she donned a gown, gloves, apron, mask, just so she could go into Beca’s room to see her, to see her but not even to hold her hand. She had seen the way Beca gripped Chloe’s hand so hard, as they walked out of that hospital, that her knuckles were white and Chloe’s hand was pale when Beca had finally released it. She had seen the girls tangled up in bed together later that night, unable to resist the urge to check on them both after the days they had had. Chloe had never said anything to Aubrey about how she felt, and Aubrey had never been told about the conversation Chloe had overheard between Beca and Amy, but Aubrey knew how her friends (and she could call Beca a friend, now) felt about each other. She wasn’t about to jeopardise their potential relationship by letting Beca die of neutropenic sepsis while being left unattended. So she kissed her girlfriend goodbye (and tried to ignore the excited cries of the Bellas around her), hugged Chloe, and knew she had done the right thing when Chloe squeezed her hand, pulled her closer and whispered ‘ _Thank you, Bree,’_ in her ear.

So Beca and Aubrey had gone to the hotel the Bellas would be staying at for the night, checked all the girls in and got their room keys, Aubrey, being Aubrey, took it upon herself to allocate the rooms; she and Stacie would share with Beca and Chloe; Fat Amy, Emily, Cynthia Rose and Denise would take the second room, and Ashley, Jessica and Flo would take the last. Fortunately, they were staying in an enormous Travel Lodge in the centre of Birmingham, so all the girls’ rooms were in a row. Within 5 minutes of Aubrey letting herself and Beca into the room, Beca was asleep.

As she sat beside the sleeping brunette, Aubrey contemplated how Beca had been handling her illness so far. It was no secret to anyone how independent Beca was, how fiercely determined the girl had been, when she first started at Bristol, to get by by herself, to cope, to manage. Aubrey was profoundly grateful (if that could ever be the right word, when talking about anyone having cancer) that Beca had got sick _now_ , and not two years ago. Now, when she would let Chloe cook for her, let Amy carry her to bed (she really was stronger than she looked), let Emily, in her eager, clumsy, puppy dog fashion, bring her cups of tea (like her mother would do) and distract Beca with her endless lyric writing, let Stacie buy her a thermometer and lip balm and moisturiser for her chapped and broken skin, let Aubrey herself drive her to the hospital, sit at her bedside when she was sick, and now stay in the room while Beca napped away Sectionals prep. Aubrey had worried, when she first heard that Beca was sick, that she would be having chemo, that the brunette would be angry when she couldn’t do things, would try and do more than her body would let her, would fight to be in that dressing room, to be on that stage. Somehow, it wasn’t much of a comfort that her worries had not come true.

 

* * *

  

They won, of course. In Regionals, they had only been competing against the two other groups in the South West: Exeter’s ‘Excentrics’ and Baths’ ‘Pitch Perfect’. Tonight, they had been competing against all the English groups, including the notoriously successful ‘All the King’s Men’ from London, and, the oldest acapella group of them all, the Oxford Alternotives. In the end, though, it had come as no surprise to anyone in the auditorium that the Bella’s had won. It was, arguably, the toughest stage in the competition; next they would be competing against the groups from Scotland, Wales and Ireland, and excellent though they might be, those nations were comparatively tiny. They had just beaten off the _real_ competition in Kings’ and Oxford. The English champions had won 19 out of the previous 20 years of competitions.

Needless to say, therefore, the Bellas were in good spirits when they burst back into their dressing room, Chloe bring up the rear and clutching a trophy. They were in even better spirits when they saw a certain blonde coach and a miniature brunette DJ waiting for them in their dressing room, having convinced a stagehand to let them in – who said having cancer was _never_ useful, Beca considered, as she sat on a stool and watched the excited gaggle of girls rush in, cheeks red, facing glowing with a slight sheen of sweat, smiles on their faces only growing at the sight of her (and with that, she tried not to blush). And then the face she had been waiting for burst into the room. The way Chloe’s eyes lit up when she saw that Beca was standing there made Beca’s tummy squirm uncomfortably, her chest tighten, her arms tingle, her head being to spin. She got up, began making her way through the sea of Bellas to the door, suddenly in need of air, cool air, air that wasn’t filled with the warmth and noise and pressure of the girls celebrating around her. Her anxiety seemed not to be showing on her face, or else the girls were all too excited to see it, even Chloe, who had seen her, seen her coming toward her, grabbed her by the elbows and hugged her in close. Beca almost pulled away, she could see the door, she could see the promise of fresh air and of quiet and calm, but she let the red head hold her for a second, until Chloe was pushing her away and Beca thought finally, _finally_ , she might get some fresh air but then –

Chloe was so happy. She was so happy she barely knew what to do with herself. Aubrey might have told her that it was a sure win, Stacie, Amy, Emily, Cynthia Rose, even Beca, any would she could care to mention would have told her that their win was inevitable. But it hadn’t felt that way to Chloe, especially not in early hours of the morning when she couldn’t sleep, when she could spend an hour or more torturing herself watching videos of the Alternotives and All the King’s Men on YouTube, fear and anxiety writhing in her stomach. She had seen the talent the other groups had, and had been worried that, without Beca at her side, she would lead the Bellas to their first defeat in 3 years. But she hadn’t, and they had been better, and they had _won_ , and Chloe was more filled with happiness than she had ever expected to be. They had performed Beca’s mixes, and Chloe had caught the brunettes eyes in the front row (the only row Chloe could see clearly with the bright lights of the stage in her eye), and the whole performance had been dedicated to her, and they had _won_. And now Beca was making her way towards Chloe, was getting closer, was in her arms and she just –

She kissed her without thinking. And Beca was out the door before Chloe could even open her eyes.


	11. Shit shit SHIT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi gang. 
> 
> Thank you as always for the kudos and the reviews and the anything else you're doing. I'm finding this sotyr harder to write than I thought, and I realised part of the reason is that in some ways I'm writing the story that I hate and that makes me angry. I guess before it had been cathartic, and for a moment it felt like it wasn't. I'm hoping it will go back to being cathartic soon. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy, and I am so grateful for your feedback in whatever form that takes. 
> 
> Stay safe gang, 
> 
> Freya xx

Beca burst out of the room, her chest heaving, her eyes stinging and burning. She ran in the direction she thought the exit might be, her lungs protesting and her legs aching but the imperative running through her brain for fresh air was overriding all of that. Eventually she saw a fire exit and, ignoring the threat of an alarm if it was opened, pushed her way through it, leaning on the wall just to the side of it on the other side. She was gasping for air, hoping to feel the fresh air flood her lungs but somehow it wasn’t happening, and with a sick feeling in her stomach she realised that everything was sounding far away again, there were spots in her vision again, and she was almost relieved when the world rushed away from her and there was nothing.

 

* * *

 

For a split-second, Chloe was frozen, her lips slightly parted, her eyes fixed on the door which was still flapping slightly after Beca’s sudden exit.

“Hey, where’s shortstack?” Amy called, noticing the absence of her friend but apparently not the look on Chloe’s face.

“I’ll go find her,” Stacie shouted in reply, rushing for the door. She _had_ seen the look on Chloe’s face, had seen the whole disastrous kiss (although she had thought, as Chloe had, that it would not be quite so disastrous), and knew that the chances that Beca was both physically and emotionally was slim to none. Amy loved Beca as much as anyone did, but the girl was the definition of a bull in a china shop when it came to emotions. This would require a more delicate hand, and she knew her girlfriend would need to stay behind to comfort a shocked and still unmoving Chloe Beale.

* * *

 

Stacie went out the door of the changing room, looked right and left in the hope that she would get some clue as to where Beca might be. Seeing the sign for a fire exit, she went right, hoping that Beca would have headed in the direction of fresh air. Down to the end of the corridor and round one corner, Stacie could see an open fire door. Praying that she would find Beca on the other side of it, she pushed it open.

Aubrey approached Chloe and slipped an arm around her shoulders. Ushering the other, bermused, Bellas out the way, she lead Chloe to the stools where she and Beca had been waiting for the Bellas before all hell had broken lose.

“I kissed her, Bree,” Chloe almost whimpered, turning to her best friend wide eyed.

“I know, Chlo, I saw,” Aubrey whispered back, putting her hands on her friend’s shoulders, hoping to ground her.

“I kissed her, and she ran.”

“I know, Chlo. But she’ll be back.”

 

* * *

 

At first, Stacie didn’t see Beca. She opened the door and looked ahead of her and to her right, seeing nothing, and her stomach dropped. And then she heard a groan and rushed around the door, finding Beca’s crumpled body behind it.

  
“Shit shit SHIT,” Stacie yelled, dropping to her knees, ignoring the stabbing pain as her bare skin hit the gravelly asphalt. She had attended no less than 5 first aid training courses, and yet somehow for a minute she couldn’t for the life of her remember what to do. And then it all came back to her.

She rearranged Beca, moving her onto her back, calling her name all the time. She shook her friend’s shoulders, pinched her earlobes hard with her sharp nails. Nothing. Unresponsive to voice or pain.

  
Ok. She tilted Beca’s head back, hovered her cheek over the brunette’s open mouth, one hand on her forehead and one hand on Beca’s abdomen. One, two, three, four – 4 breaths in under 10 seconds, she was breathing. Ok. Recovery position. Right knee bent up, left arm straight out, right hand in her right hand, against Beca’s left cheek, left hand on Beca’s knee, one two three roll – ok. Ambulance. 999.

“ _999, what’s your emergency?_ ”

“I need an ambulance, my friend’s collapsed. She’s unresponsive but she’s breathing.”

“ _OK, can you tell me where you are?_ ”

“At Brimingham Uni Student Union, we’re outside a fire exit at the back of the building.”

“ _Ok, help is on the way. What’s your name?_ ”

“Stacie.”

“ _Ok Stacie, what’s your friend’s name?_ ”

“Beca, her name’s Beca.”

“ _Ok Stacie, is there anyone there with you and Beca?_ ”

“No, no, everyone else is inside, she went outside to get some air, I followed her, I just wanted to check she was ok and then she was – and I checked she was breathing and I put her in the recovery position and I-“

“ _Hey hey Stacie, it’s ok, stay calm, take a deep breath for me. You’ve done really well. You’ve given me all the right information, and help is on its way, ok? Can you check your friend is still breathing for me? You’re doing really well_.”

Stacie held her hand just in front of Beca’s mouth, her chest filled with warm reassurance every time she felt a puff of warm, damp air on the back of her hand.

“She’s still breathing. I can see the lights of the ambulance, the paramedics are here,”

“ _You’ve done really well Stacie, you’ve done everything right, the paramedics will help you-_ “ but by that point Stacie had hung up and was explaining what had happened to the two women heading towards her in their forest green jump suits. She found Beca’s phone in her pockets, showed the paramedics the medical ID, tried to stay out of the way as they took Beca’s blood pressure, sugar, O2 sats, as they loaded her onto a gurney and pushed her up the ramp into the back of the ambulance. It was only when she jumped into the back of the ambulance with Beca and slipped her hand round Beca’s small and clammy one that she managed to text Aubrey and let her know what was happening.

 

* * *

 

 The other Bellas arrived at A&E to find Stacie curled up in a high-backed chair, hand clutching Beca’s and lying on top of the smaller brunette’s blanket. She started when the other Bellas came in, lifting her head and uncurling.

“She’s ok,” she said quickly, seeing the fear in Aubrey and Chloe’s eyes as they lead the charge of Bellas. Everyone's shoulders sagged in relief.

“She’s just dehydrated, and her blood sugar was low. They think she… she had a panic attack and passed out, and then she didn’t come round again properly because she was too dehydrated and her blood sugar was too low. They said they’ll just keep her overnight on fluids-,” she gestured to the big of colourless liquid leading to Beca’s PICC line “- and we can take her home tomorrow.”

Throughout this explanation, Chloe had said nothing, just walked to Beca’s side and replaced Stacie’s hand in Beca’s with her own. When Stacie had finished speaking, Chloe whispered, “thanks, Stacie,” without once taking her eyes off of Beca’s face.

 

* * *

  

Chloe wasn’t sure when the rest of the Bellas left. All she knew was that when the porter came to move Beca up to the ward, Chloe turned around and the Beca’s were gone. Chloe had to tell the nurse that she was Beca’s girlfriend to be allowed to stay with her, and the lie was bitter almonds on her tongue and an anvil in her stomach, because if that hadn’t been her greatest wish, Beca wouldn’t even be here. But the pain of being able to stay with Beca was worth the pain of the lie, and so she told it.

  
The ward smelled like hospitals do, of sterility and bad food reheated and a faint undertone of old people and urine. It was late, but the lights weren’t completely off, as they never are in hospital wards, where observations must be taken hourly and no one is allowed to sleep well. The curtains were drawn around most of the beds, although a few lay empty, and at least one person was asleep in Beca’s bay because they were snoring loudly.

  
It was no surprise, therefore, that Beca woke up within a few minutes of arriving on the ward. How she had stayed awake for the journey through the hospital, round corners and in lifts, but woke up as soon as they reached the relative quiet of the ward is anyone’s guess, but personally, Chloe blamed the guy who was snoring.

  
When Beca opened her eyes, Chloe tried to shrink into her high-backed, hospital chair. She tried not to look at the girl she had scared into fainting. She tried to ignore the aftertaste of her lie, and she tried not to be the one crying, when she wasn’t the one in a hospital bed

“Hey,” Beca called softly, “Look at me.”

Her voice was hoarse and her tone was kind and calm and Chloe looked at her with all the trepidation of a child whose teacher has called them over, knowing that they have done wrong.

“Hey,” Beca said again, when she could see those baby blue eyes looking up at her, eyes red despite the layers of stage make up, and mascara lines running classically down her cheeks.

“Hey,” Chloe replied, tentative, scared in a way she has never been of speaking to Beca before. She does not know which direction this will go. The panic attack is her biggest clue (although she hopes, she hopes that that is somehow a red herring).

“I’m toxic, Chlo,” Beca said her voice still soft, her eyes still locked on Chloe’s, and apparently they were doing this now.

“I’m toxic, and I’m tired,” she sighed, and this time she turned away, pulled her hand from where it had been resting under Chloe’s while she was asleep, closed her eyes.

“But I love you,” Chloe responded, trying desperately to be calm and quiet and kind as well but raging inside with a desperate desire for Beca to see that Chloe loves her, has always loved her, will always love her. Chloe doesn’t love Beca because she has cancer. She doesn’t love her because she is strong or she is brave or she fights hard against a sucky disease. Chloe loves Beca because she is sarcastic and stroppy and insecure and she makes music like you wouldn’t believe. And Chloe tried to convey all that in the four words she has, because she is in a hospital ward and Beca is tired.

“I could die, Chloe,” Beca said, her voice stronger now, louder as she turned to face Chloe with such anger in her eyes that Chloe was almost frightened, almost jolted back, almost could not meet her eyes.

“I could die, and then you would have a dead girlfriend. Not an ex-girlfriend, a dead one. And I would never stop being your dead girlfriend. You would always have a dead girlfriend Chloe, even if I died a month before we would have broken up. I have cancer, Chloe. I have cancer and it could kill me. You could ask me out on a date and I could die of anything before we even get round to it. Or we could go on a date, and go to a fancy restaurant, and I could sit there and not be able to eat anything and try not to puke and hope that no one was looking at the fucking cancer kid with her pity girlfriend trying to pretend like everything wasn’t going to SHIT.”

Beca was almost shouting, out of breath by this point and for a second, something was beeping loudly and angrily and Chloe was terrified that a nurse might rush over, but Beca took some deep breaths, and her pulse slowed, and the beeping stopped, and then there was just the snoring of the sleeping man and Beca’s breathing and Chloe’s fear to fill the silence.

“I know, Beca. I know you could be dying. I know you might have chemo next week, be septic the week after and be dead before the end of the month. I know that we might date, and it might not work out. We might date and you might die. But I also know that I have been in love with you for the last two years and if I don’t do something about it soon I might not get that option any more. I’m not stupid, Beca. I might smile, and be positive, and pretend that I know you can beat this but I’m scared every night that you might not be there in the morning. And honestly, I’d rather have a dead girlfriend than a dead best friend that I never gained the courage to kiss. Please, Beca? Give me a chance?”

This time it was Chloe’s turn to be out of breath, to have forgotten to breathe, although her voice got softer and softer throughout her speech, as if speaking the words aloud might give them the power to come true. Almost the opposite to Beca, who sometimes felt that if she shouts these things loud enough they will be too afraid to come near her and come true.

Beca looked at Chloe then, and Chloe didn’t move.

“I don’t know if I can do this to you, Chloe. I don’t know if I can give you this, knowing that I might take it away,” and this time when Beca closes her eyes and turns away, two hot wet tears rush down her cheeks.

“It’s up to you, Beca,” Chloe whispered softly, as she unfolded herself from her chair and walked away.

 

* * *

 

Chloe Beale is not perfect. She’s never had a friend whose had cancer before. She’s never had a friend be in hospital. She’s never been so in love with a girl that it makes her tummy twist and her heart race to think of her. So she’s done the best she can, and, she sighed, as she walked down the ward, out of the hospital to the taxi rank, crept into the room she was sharing with Stacie and Aubrey and slipped into the bed she should have been sharing with Beca, the rest is up to her.


	12. Or like, whatever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has been so long, friends. I had exams and then I had family to stay and children to look after and today is the first day in 6 weeks I've woken up and had NO PLANS, except to update this. 
> 
> I hope you like this chapter. The romance does NOT come easy to me, but I'm doing my best for the girls. 
> 
> If you're still here, I hoe you enjoy :) Sorry it's short, but I wrote half of it before my very very busy time and half after. I kinda just wanted to get it published so I can work on the next chapter all in one go. Hopefully you'll like it though :)
> 
> Love, Freya xxx
> 
> (p.s. Still don't have a beta, still all my own mistakes, any volunteers?!)

The Bellas picked Beca up from the hospital bright and early the next morning: she was discharged and drugged up in time to be helped into the Bellas minivan at 9am.

Chloe’s heart was racing as Stacie helped Beca onto the bus. On the one hand, she was wracked with guilt at having left Beca alone in the hospital the previous night: on the other hand, she knew perfectly well that she would have been chucked out 15 minutes later and wouldn’t have been allowed back onto the ward until 10am the next morning. Chloe cycled between listening to the guilt gnawing at her conscience, and stubbornly denying it on the basis that she had done nothing wrong and had given Beca time to think.

Also sitting in Chloe’s stomach, weighing it down as if it were on a mission to get to her feet, was exactly what she and Beca had talked about last night. Beca. Dying.

Chloe had never really thought about that before, and even as the words had been coming out of her mouth she hadn’t really believed them. Beca was _Beca_. She was Beca who mixed music, Beca who left the lid off the toothpaste, Beca who she liked to make blush by interrupting her showers, Beca who either slept curled up like a baby or spread eagled on her front, one foot sticking out of the duvet. She was Beca who couldn’t bake for shit but adored chocolate chip cookies, Beca who had stayed up all night with a weeping Legacy the first time the younger girl had failed an exam, Beca who always knew to bring Chloe Galaxy chocolate and watch (500) Days of Summer when she was sad, Beca who’s resting bitch face rivalled any on this Earth but who would secretly replenish the House Emergency Chocolate cupboard and believe no one knew it was her. She was _Beca_ and she was young and alive and strong until suddenly she wasn’t so strong any more. And it had been 5 months but sometimes Chloe still felt like she had whiplash.

As Stacie helped Beca onto the bus – although she was much stronger for the infusion of fluid, electrolytes and sugars the hospital had given her, Beca still struggled with stairs because of her leg – Chloe’s stomach tightened. Now Beca had to choose where to sit. Should Chloe be looking at her, asking with her eyes for the brunette to sit next to her? Or should she be looking out the window, feigning disinterest, allowing the girl to have her space some more. The decision was taken out of Chloe’s hands: her eye caught Beca’s and she instinctively jumped and looked away, cursing the extra squeeze in her stomach as she did so.

She was surprised, therefore, to hear the springs in the seat next to her squeak, and then to feel one of Beca’s many blanket’s brush against her leg as the brunette got herself comfy and put her seat belt on. Chloe turned instinctively, met Beca’s eyes for a second, turned back and fumbled in her bag to find her iPod, determined to be distracted from the brunette sitting beside her.s

“Let’s get this show on the road, bitches!” Amy yelled as soon as she could see that Beca’s seat belt was done up: the Bellas were heading home.

 

* * *

  

Unlike the journey on the way, the next two hours were almost silent. Although the Bellas hadn’t gone out in the end the previous night, they had crammed into one of the three hotel rooms and drunk themselves silly on boxed wine and Vodkat, and the majority were still sleeping off the substantial hangovers they had acquired. Other than Beca, only Stacie and Aubrey were awake, Aubrey with her head on the taller girl’s shoulder, and both listening to their iPods and staring contemplatively out the window, hands linked in Stacie’s lap. Amy was, of course, awake, but even she was quiet for once, only humming along to the music playing softly on the radio in the cab.

Which left Beca to the relative silence of her own thoughts. The swooshing of cars overtaking them on the motorway, and the low buzz of the minivan’s engines acted as a white noise soundtrack to her ponderings.

Chloe. Cancer. Chloe. Cancer.

It will come as a surprise to no one that Beca hated having cancer. She hated that her body seemed to react particularly badly to the chemo and that she was weak all the time. She hated that she was too tired to mix most of the time, and that it had taken her the almost 5 months since she started chemo to make one mix for each of the Bellas, and an extra one for Chloe. She hated that her voice was so often hoarse, her lips cracked, her mouth too dry to sing. She hated that she wasn’t sure of anything anymore, if she would be able to compete next year, if she would ever finish university. She had filled in her interruption of studies form, wondering if there was any point, if she would ever finish this degree, would ever be a Bella again. Would she ever be the music producer she had always dreamed of being? Would she ever be in a relationship she really cared about? Would she ever get married? Would she ever have kids? She couldn’t carry them, but Beca knew enough about life to know that there is more than one way to make a family. Would she ever be old? Would she pay tax? Would she collect her pension? Would she be the old biddy playing bingo in the town hall complaining about the price of bread and milk and how hard it was to get an appointment with the doctor these days? Would this be _it_? Would 20 years old and half way through a degree be as far as she ever got in her life?

Beca didn’t know. She couldn’t know.

And Chloe., who’s head had dropped onto Beca’s shoulder, who’s hair was scratching her neck, clouding her thought vision. Bringing Chloe into that uncertainty… Tying her to the knowledge that Beca might not make it. Chloe might _say_ that she understood that Beca might die, but Beca didn’t really believe that she did. Beca’s uncle had died a couple of years ago. He had been sick for 10 months before he died, and the diagnosis he had been given right at the beginning carried a guaranteed death sentence within the year. When he’d been given a diagnosis, it felt like he had died, it felt like the family was grieving. And then he carried on, and he got worse and worse and less and less likehimself, and yet somehow, it never really felt like he was going to die until he did. And then they had to grieve all over again. Chloe, Beca knew, had never had anyone close to her die. Sometimes Beca wished there was someone she could talk to about the dying thing. It isn’t something you think about much when you’re a healthy, it isn’t something that really occurs to you, or that you’ve ever had to consider. Your own mortality. Sometimes Beca wishes they didn’t have to pretend all the time that she was definitely going to be ok. She had had a glimpse of that last night with Chloe, and even in the pain and difficult of the argument, there was that feather-light feeling of relief settling on her shoulders when they both acknowledge, out loud, that this might be it.

Chloe. Who was asleep next to her. Who said she loved her. Could she do this?  _  
_

 

* * *

  

For a second, when she first woke up, Chloe forgot. She forgot that the shoulder under her head belonged to the girl she’d kissed, and who had run away, and who had cancer. She forgot even that she lead her team to win the Regional championship, and almost by default, Nationals. She forgot that she was wracked with guilt at leaving her best friend alone on a hospital last night. She was just warm, and comfy, and sleepy, and happy.

And she remembered, and up she sat with a jolt. Looking out the window she realised that they were stationary, that the bus was empty, that Beca was still beside her.

That Beca had waited for her, had let her sleep.

That Beca was talking,

“So I was thinking… Maybe right before my surgery, we could like, go out for dinner, or like, whatever, I mean, if you still want to.”

And as there were no witnesses there is no one to refute Chloe’s denial that at that point she squealed like a tiny child, clapped her hands together, bounced on her seat and gave Beca and smacking kiss on the cheek before saying yes a thousand times. But I think we can have our suspicions, don’t you?


	13. And so it began.

And so it began. They slipped into it slowly and quietly at first. Legs pressed just slightly together as they sat next to each other on the sofa.  Chloe’s warm fingers slipping through Beca’s cold ones as they shared a blanket on movie night. A light hand on Chloe’s waist and a chin on her shoulder as she cooked for the pair of them. A goodnight kiss on the cheek that lingered for just a second one night, and a goodnight kiss on the cheek that was _just_ at the corner of Beca’s lips the next night. Then the first week in March, two weeks after returning from the Sectional’s win, there was a cold snap. There was frost on the ground in the morning and Chloe’s breath blew like cigarette smoke as she trudged up the road toward the Bellas house. She had been out to her late lecture, the lecture that started at 5 and didn’t finish til 6, which she had always loathed but never more so than now, when it was almost dark and the cold was biting at her nose. Al she wanted to do was get home, to make something hot for dinner, and snuggle on the sofa with her – her friend? her maybe girlfriend to be? Her Beca, she decided on – and watch Buffy with hot chocolate in her hands and Beca’s head on her shoulder.

She fumbled with her keys, fingers stiff in the cold air, and the metal cold to the touch. Eventually she made her way inside to find the house was quiet, the lights off. This wasn’t necessarily unusual; sometimes a person settled down to do something (read: Netflix) and it got dark around them, and it wasn’t until that judgemental message from Netflix (Are you still watching?) that startled them into realising that the world had got dark around them. It often happened to Chloe herself, if she was honest.

Having first noticed that it was dark, Chloe now noticed that it was cold. She frowned; since Beca had got ill, the heating came on for 6 hours a day, and four of those hours were 5.30pm-9.30pm. Walking through the hall however, she reached out for the radiator and jerked her hand back at the icy metal beneath her fingers.

“Beca?” she called, knowing she was the only one likely to be in; Stacie was staying at Aubrey’s after date night, and Amy, who had finally “revealed” her relationship the day after Sectionals’, spent most nights of the week holed up somewhere with him.

“In here Chlo,” Beca replied, her voice coming from her bedroom, a little muffled, a little shaky, and Chloe rushed to the door at the end of the corridor without stopping to take off her coat, shoes, hat, only concerned with making sure that Beca was ok.

Opening the door, it took her eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, and she didn’t see Beca at first. Then the great pile of blankets on the bed moved, slightly, and Beca’s pale forehead poked out from the nest she had made herself.

“Hey,” the brunette said between chattering teeth, “good day?”

“Beca! What the hell are you doing?! Why haven’t you put the heating on? Do you have a hot water bottle? Do you have a fever? Where’s the thermometer?”

“Chill out Chlo,” Beca said, smirking at her own (pathetic) pun, “I’ve checked my temperature and it’s fine. I’m just cold.” She nodded towards the digital thermometer discarded on her desk.

“Why didn’t you turn the heating on?!” Chloe almost yelled, incredulous that her ridiculous Beca would sit here and shiver without bothering to turn the heating on, “Or make a hot water bottle, or do anything to make yourself warmer?!”

“It’s too cold outside of my cocoon!” Beca whined, and Chloe rolled her eyes at the girl’s short-term thinking.

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be if you turned the heating on, would it now Becs?”

The brunette pouted, but didn’t disagree. Then her face morphed into full on puppydog eyes as she said, “make me a new hot water bottle?”, wriggling a little to get her arm out from under the covers and pass Chloe the offending object, stone cold and heavy in her arms.

Chloe _just_ refrained from rolling her eyes again before sighing, taking the hot water bottle from Beca’s outstretched arm and pouring the contents into the kettle. While she waited for the kettle to boil, she went out to the hall, manually turned the heating on, and before trudging downstairs to make the pair of them hot chocolate.

15 (long, if you asked Beca) minutes later, Chloe and Beca were snuggled up under Beca’s duvet, steaming mugs of hot chocolate in hands, and a toasty hot water bottle settled on Beca’s stomach.

“Better?” Chloe asked.

“Much,” Beca agreed, taking a deep sniff of her hot chocolate.

(Incidentally, Beca _loved_ hot chocolate, but only when made by somebody else. That way, they could put in the outrageous amounts of hot chocolate powder necessary to make the drink truly delicious, and as Beca didn’t see it, she didn’t have to feel guilty. It was for this reason that any time one of the girls had a sore throat or a cold, Beca made a point to make them flasks of honey and lemon. No one really needed to know just how much honey was involved, and Beca didn’t care as it was good for them anyway. We digress.)

A couple of hours later, after watching Buffy (“Nooooo, not this episode Chlo, his eyes are too scary!) and a hot bowl of one-put-tomatoey-rice-beans-and-vegetables (one of Chloe’s specialities) Beca’s eyelids were dropping and her yawns were becoming longer and more frequent.

“I should go to bed,” Chloe mumbled reluctantly into the top of Beca’s head. The last couple of hours had been so nice. They had started just sitting next to each other, before Beca boldly slipped her hand into Chloe’s. Chloe managed to refrain from the classic yawn-and-stretch, but did eventually summon the courage to put her arm around Beca, who immediately snuggled further into Chloe’s side. By the time the yawning and eyelid dropping was getting too much, Beca’s head was resting on Chloe’s chest, and Chloe’s head was turned slightly into the top of Beca’s hair. The pair had always had a physically close relationship before, but with the idea of A Date looming in the future, somehow everything was that bit more charged and cautious these days.

Beca’s stomach twisted at the thought of Chloe leaving. She pretended it was the prospect of the cold that clenched her tummy, but really it was the hand that was round Chloe’s waist and the feeling of Chloe’s breath on the top of her head, and the comforting warmth of Chloe’s chest beneath her, and the deep down desire to _kiss_ her best friend that was the real motivator. It felt so close, if she could only keep them going.

“You could always… stay in here, with me?” she suggested, and then, hurrying on, “I mean you don’t have if you don’t want to but it’s cold and the heating’s gone off now but I know you have to get up to go to lectures in the morning so I completely understand if you-“

“Bec. I’ll stay,” Chloe cut the other girl off mid-frantic-ramble, and swiftly kissed the top of her head before getting up and stretching.

“Beca Mitchell, would you do the honour of brushing your teeth with me?”. 

* * *

 

Not long later, teeth clean and pajamas on, the two girls lay in bed, facing each other. Neither of them spoke, both somehow worried that speaking aloud would cause something to break, to snap, something to be lost. Hand shaking, and breath coming just slightly short, Chloe slowly moved her hand to rest on Beca’s cheek, pulling herself slightly closer.  She stroked her lip with her thumb, finding it in the dark, not soft under her lips but dry, and chapped. And  then Beca’s face was coming towards her, and Beca’ hands were on her waist, and just before their lips met both girls closed their eyes.

It was a slightly clumsy kiss. Their eyes were closed, and they bumped slightly as they came together slightly off centre. They were at the wrong angle, lying down on their sides, and just slightly craning their necks. Beca’s lips were dry and Chloe thought she tasted blood but somehow, none of that mattered. All that mattered was that it was dark, and warm, and their lips were connected, and they were happy.

* * *

 

They didn’t go any further than kissing that night. Eventually, their kisses softened, from desperately exploring each others mouths with their tongues, to sweet, chaste pulls. Eventually they just rested their foreheads together (Beca vaguely recalled being surprised, that something that happened in movies and books really did feel so natural) puffs of hot breath mingling, and the warmth of one another presence, eased them to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter folks, but I hope you liked it :) For some reason I thought I would have MORE time over the summer holidays, but I have definitely had less. I am away until the 29th August, but after that I will aim to update every Sunday. 
> 
> Next chapter is Beca's surgery.


	14. This is it. The big one. The one we've all been waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, friends. A fluffy fluffy chapter for summer and to thank you for your kindness :) medschool begins in earnest this week, but expect a chapter a week for the rest of the term :)

_This is it. The big one. The one we’ve all been waiting for_. _We know Oliver Wood’s speech by heart_ echoes in Beca’s head as she stares in the mirror, meeting her own dark-blue-almost-eyes, ringed as they were with eye liner, and each topped with a carefully painted on eye brow. Sighing at her reflection she takes a step back, tilting her head to contemplate what she sees before her.

She was wearing a mostly navy blue dress, with flowers and patterns towards the bottom of the skirt, and a cut out back ( _and no bra_ , she was very conscious of). Her face was done up to the nines (care of Stacie, who had pointed out how much easier it was to apply eyeliner when there were no eyelashes getting in the way). She had been carefully applying lipbalm for days in anticipation of wearing lipstick, and although her lips were still that bit too chapped for real lipstick, the tinted Burts Bees Aubrey had bought for her meant her lips weren’t disappearing into the background of her face, as they were want to do. Beca felt a pang in her stomach as her eyes drifted up to her hair. Or rather, not her hair. Beca and wigs had never really got on. She had been offered one, _(thank God for the NHS_ she silently reminded herself, as she did several times a week these days) and at first she had tried to wear it when she went out, but even with the cap on underneath, Beca’s sensitive skin did not appreciate being covered with the slightly scratchy wig. Beca was also very aware that it was a _wig_ and it _looked_ like one, and that she did not appreciate. But she was wearing it now, and with Aubrey and Stacie’s careful styling (and Beca knew that Stacie had spent time looking up how to style wigs, but Stacie hadn’t said that, and so neither had Beca, but she may have hugged her just that little bit harder and longer when she had finished), it fell in soft, loose curls around her shoulders, and if Beca didn’t focus too hard in the mirror she could almost pretend she had hair again.

She was interrupted from her contemplation but a soft knocking at the door, and at that sound her stomach _really_ jumped. It had been three weeks since her last chemo, her surgery was in 3 days time, but right now it was time for her first date with Chloe.

“Come in,” she called, too softly at first as her throat croaked and then too loudly as she hurried to clear it.

And then Chloe walked in a, just for a second, Beca was frozen, mouth hanging open and eyes wide as Chloe shyly through the door.

Beca knew that Chloe Beale was beautiful. It was no secret to Beca that Chloe’s eyes sparkled and her smile lit up a room, that her skin was soft and her body curved and her legs long and toned. And yet somehow, the sight of Chloe all dressed her, in a dress that was almost-see-through mesh across the sleeves and shoulders, a beautiful royal blue and fitted perfectly at her waist, her hair swooped up and her eyes bluer than ever, momentarily rendered her unable to breathe.

“You look beautiful,” Beca was eventually able to stutter out, the croak almost back in her throat faced with this expected but utterly unanticipated beauty.

“You do, too,” Chloe replied, cheeks blushing and eyes downcast for a second, and then meeting Beca’s as she reached to cup Beca’s face with her hand, just for an instant. And then it was Beca’s turn to blush, to turn her gaze downwards, to shiver slightly at Chloe’s touch. They had kissed, and spent the night in the same bed, and ended countless movie nights tangled under a blanket, napping on the sofa, but somehow this, Chloe’s warm hand on her cheek, suddenly felt more intimate than anything that had happened before.

Chloe cleared her throat, running her hand down Beca’s arm instead, clasping her hand, pulling her slightly as she said “Let’s go!” the excitement evident in her voice. Beca gripped her hand back, smiled shyly, allowed herself to be pulled along by Chloe’s insistent arm, glancing only momentarily back at her crutches and shaking her head. “Let’s go,” she said quietly to herself, smiling in anticipation of the night to come.

 

 

Two hours later, Beca flopped backwards onto her bed, her face grinning so wide her cheeks hurt, her lips burning with the feel of Chloe’s goodnight kiss. It had been _perfect_.

Aubrey had driven the pair of them (giggling in the back like teenagers and pretending to be in a taxi) to a little Italian restaurant near the student union. Chloe had leapt out the car, rushed round to Beca’s door, opened it for her, holding out a hand for the smaller girl to steady herself on. They had walked the few feet to the restaurant, Beca with her arm around Chloe’s waist, and Chloe’s arm over her shoulder, silently supporting her as she limped slightly without her crutch. At Chloe’s request, they sat at a round table in a corner, candle lit and cozy, away from the potential stares of the other diners. Chloe thought Beca looked beautiful even without a single hair on her head, wig or no, but she knew Beca didn’t feel the same way, and wanted her date to be comfortable.

It had been slightly awkward at first. They had kept catching each other’s eye, blushing, looking away. Beca had never been so conscious before of the fact that cancer dominated her entire life; she had no news, nothing interesting to report, no activities to debrief on, not even any work to complain about, and suddenly she was aware of it as the thought went round and round her head that she would have nothing to say for the rest of the night. But then the waiter came for their drinks orders, interrupting their interruptible silence, and he had looked _so_ like Benji, one of the Trebles, that they both burst into fits of giggles. And the knot in Beca’s stomach relaxed, and she thought maybe it would be ok.

And it _was_. Beca had ordered a starter for her starter _and_ her main, and the two shared a pudding, and between these two tactics Beca made it through a whole 3 course meal without wanting to throw up. Her and Chloe had talked til their throats were sore; about music and the Bella’s, about LGBT representation in TV (something Beca had only become more passionate about now that she had the time to actually _watch_ all these TV shows) and the damaging tropes often employed, about what their spirit animal was and the difference between what you would be as an animagus and what your patronus would be, and everything in between, _except cancer_.

Chloe hadn’t even _tried_ to pay the whole bill, but split it without arguing, and Aubrey had picked them and kindly not looked at them as they made out in the back seat of her car. And then Chloe had walked Beca to the door of her bedroom and kissed her chastely on the lips, whispering “goodnight”, softly in Beca’s ear as she pushed her ‘hair’ behind her ear. Beca knew that in a couple of minutes, Chloe would be knocking on her door, dressed in the leggings and too-big-tshirt she wore to bed, face shining slightly and clear of makeup, hair tied up in a messy bun on top of her head, and ask Beca if she wanted to brush her teeth with her. In a couple of hours, she would be trying to sleep, trying to mix, trying not to think, and in a couple of days she would be lying in a hospital bed, consenting for a procedure she barely understood to remove a cancerous bone in her body. But right here, right now, her lips were burning and her heart was racing and her stomach was floating and ok, maybe her eyes were watering a little, but only with happiness, and maybe her head was itching slightly, and maybe her leg ached from not using her crutch that evening, but she was _happy_.


	15. Eradicate malaria too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, 
> 
> I hope people are still enjoying this story :) I can keep apologising for the late updates or long gaps, or I can just try my hardest to get stuff published when I can, while I attempt to get my degree at the same time. For some reason, it's hard to do both! 
> 
> Mostly fluffy chapter (sort of?), I hope you enjoy :) Is there anything that people want to see that they aren't? 
> 
> xxx  
> p.s. your reviews and kudos make my day, thank you so much. couldn't do this without you.

Beca blinked.

Or rather, she did the opposite of blinking; she opened her eyes for just a second, before her reflexes scrunched them back up again, the fluorescent lighting of the room she was in being just too much for them to handle.

Ok, so it was bright.

She swallowed and _ouch,_ ok, wherever she was her throat was _really_ sore, and tried again to open her eyes, slower this time, and with slightly more success.

Mint green walls. Bright lights. Blue blanket and a white sheet. Cannula in her left arm, hooked up to a drip ( _hospital then, chemo?_ ) and a dull ache in her right leg.

Surgery. She’d had her surgery. What were they doing again?

Just as Beca attempted to complete this thought, a door opened to her left and a nurse walked in wheeling a blood pressure machine in front of her.

“Great to see you awake again Beca!” she smiled, coming to a stop next to Beca’s bedside ( _again? Have I already done this?_ But the nurse was already talking again-) “My name’s Maya, I’m the nurse looking after you at the moment”.

“Hi,” Beca tried to say, but all that came out was a croak and a whisper. Maya swiftly pulled the bed table towards her, poured Beca some water from the jug waiting there, and passed it to her, waiting a moment for the girl to take a sip and repeat herself,

“Hi. Did I already wake up before?”

“Just for a few minutes. Don’t worry about it though, people often wake up for just a few seconds, fall back asleep and don’t remember it, even people who haven’t been under general anaesthetic,” Hannah said, reassuringly. She was nice, Beca decided. She didn’t look much older than Beca (in fact, Hannah was 29, a full 9 and a bit years older than Beca, but Beca didn’t know that), her hair was dark brown, and you could tell that it was curly even though it was pulled back into a French plait. Her face was friendly, and in her sky blue tunic, complete with “My name is Maya” badge and pocket full of pens and paper, Beca felt like she was in safe hands.

Maya set about taking Beca’s obs while Beca herself lay back on her pillow, still slightly dazed with the lipped the blood pressure cuff round Beca’s arm whilst apparently simultaneously clipping an oxygen monitor to her finger. While Maya also took Beca’s pulse ( _how did this woman have so many hands to do everything at once?_ Beca considered briefly, before going back to pondering life the universe and everything. Had she been a bit more with it, she would have remembered that her pulse was being displayed in at least 3 places throughout the room and that Maya was really counting her breath rate sneakily. But then she would have become self-conscious and ruined it, so that was probably for the best.

Having taken her blood pressure, pulse, breathing rate, temperature and oxygen saturations, asked Beca the perennial question, “how would you rate your pain on a scale of 0 to 10, where 0 is no pain and 10 is the worst pain you’ve ever had in your life?” – answer, 4 - and probably eradicated malaria as well, in the space of the last 5 minutes, Maya said, “I’ll let your girlfriend know you’re awake and she can come in and see you,” pushing her trolley out of the room before Beca could even get over the swoop in her stomach at the word girlfriend.

Chloe Beale. Chloe Beale, her girlfriend. Now this bit she could remember, and with that, everything else came back.

_“What are you doing up?” a sleepy Beca had croaked as she slowly crutched her way downstairs at 6am that morning._

_“Waiting for you of course!” Chloe replied cheerfully. Apparently her brain had not received the memo that 6am on a Monday morning was entirely too early for enthusiasm._

_“I told you, you didn’t have to get up Chlo,” Beca replied shyly, eyes glancing downwards, voice still husky with sleep, and just the slightest hint of a blush dusking her pale cheeks. Some part of her wanted to be annoyed that Chloe had got up anyway, had disregarded her wishes. But somehow not even an edge of irritation crept into her voice._

_“I’m not gonna let you go into hospital by yourself, Bec,” Chloe replied gently, wary of Beca’s ability to snap when her independence was challenged, but mostly sure that whether she said it or not, Beca wanted her there._

_There was a pause, as if Chloe was almost waiting for the retaliation. But Beca didn’t even sigh before she said_

_“Thanks. Thank you. Thank you, Chlo.”_

_And just like that, Chloe’s chirp was back. “Well I wasn’t gonna let me girlfriend go have a bone removed all on her own!” she said, turning around to put the kettle on before the startled look of surprise and happiness quite made it to Beca’s face._

_“Oh is that what I am, Beale?” Beca said, smirking a little as she finally managed to get control of her facial features, her tummy squirming and her heart almost glowing._

_“Yep!” Chloe said brightly, flashing Beca a smile before turning to cupboard to pull out two travel mugs (Bellas mugs of course; no harm in drinking to the aca-gods for luck after all), continuing, “Earl Grey or builders?”_

_“Builders,” Beca replied, before crutching over to_ her girlfriend _, leaning her crutches on the side of the counter, putting her weight on one foot and slipping her arms round Chloe’s waist to support herself. Nuzzling into Chloe’s warm, bare shoulder she murmured, “Love you, Chlo.”_

_“Love you too, Bec,” Chloe whispered back, turning her head slightly to kiss the other girl’s head, shaking her head slightly before saying, “love you too, Bec. It’s gonna be ok.”_

_Beca didn’t reply._

Beca was startled out of her memory by the sound of the door handle being pushed down, before the girl she’d been thinking of herself came into the room, rushing over to the bed and grasping Beca’s hand closest to her.

“Beca! How are you feeling? Are you ok? Does it hurt? Do you need anything?”

Beca smiled, wincing a little at her sore throat but smiling as she replied “I’m feeling a little groggy, and my throat hurts, but yes, I’m ok. It hurts a little… and the only thing I need from you is a hug. And then maybe some sucky sweets. And my laptop, and my headphones, and my blanket, and my hat, and my slippers, and some socks, and-“ but before she could end her list with _and the kitchen sink,_ Chloe’s warm, soft lips were on hers, and Chloe’s tongue was running along the dry, chapped skin there, and for a little while nothing hurt at all any more.

 

* * *

  

Beca was in hospital for 10 whole days following her operation, and it was _boring_. Boring, and sometimes painful.

Chloe came to visit Beca everyday – but visiting hours were only between 2pm-8pm, which left at least 10 hours a day when Beca was awake, and alone, and bored, with only medical professionals to keep her company. And _thrilling_ though they were, the nurses mostly swept in and out to take her observations and ask her how her pain was. She had seen Maya a few times, and her first impression of her was right - she _was_ nice, and she did take good care of Beca. WHen she could, she came in for a chat, to keep the young girl company. But sadly the life of a nurse in the NHS does not leave much time for sitting and chatting. 

And Beca's leg hurt. For the first couple of days after the operation, she had a magical device known as a PCA – which apparently stood for patient controlled analgesia, which Beca supposed made sense if you thought about it, which, she didn’t – which would deliver a wave of opiates at the press of a button Obviously, this was regulated - she could only press the button (to effect) so many times. She was, much to her disappointment, not getting unlimited access to opiate drugs, and she was not high all the time. But every time she pressed the button there was a delicious feeling of _not pain_ rolling over her. Sadly, she wasn’t allowed to stay on this forever, and it wasn’t long before the physios were round, in their white tunics with green trim, bugging on her to get out of bed, walk here, mobilise there, wiggle your foot this way and that, all the while being relentlessly cheerful and optimistic. And then, of course, Chloe made her practise, even when the physio's  _weren't_ there. But Beca could hardly resent this - after every torturous lap of the ward on her crutches, she was rewarded with a long snuggle (on her 100% romantic hospital bed with NHS issue linen) watching Buffy on a laptop with earbuds. Sadly, Beca wasn't allowed to keep her curtains drawn in the day time (something about nurses wanting to be able to see her to look after her, notice if she fell out of bed and cracked her head open, etc.) and excessive make-out sessions were liable to be disturbed by the Sister on the ward, with whom Beca had a love-hate relationship. Her name was Hannah. She was somewhere in her middle age, her hair just greying round the edges, and her glasses absolutely essential when looking Beca's chart, and had apparently noticed both Beca's age, and her lack of a mother figure. Their relationship was one of give and take: Beca would give Hannah sass and take her fussing with minimal complaint, and Hannah would give Beca a stern talking to when she and Chloe got carried away, and take the girl's gentle teasing for the affectionate display that it was. 

Physio was definitely the hardest part of Beca's recovery, however, so sometimes she needed the comfort, even with the telling off. It hard been kinda hard to move around when she had a tumour on her fibula and her whole leg was aching, but, Beca discovered, it was even _harder_ to walk around with her without whatever piece of anatomical equipment it was which lifted her foot up as she walked. Sadly, that had gone too during the operation. So now Beca was left with either picking up her foot by raising her whole leg from her thigh, until it was high enough that even the tips of her toes were off the ground, throwing her foot forward, and hoping for the best; or wearing a rather attractive sock-sling-brace situation, which very mechanically held her foot up for her. Either way, it hurt, and it was uncomfortable, and she didn’t like it.

The only good thing about having surgery was not having chemo.

Despite the pain in leg, the frustration with her limp foot, and agnosingly boring loneliness of being on a hospital ward (thank _goodness_ for her laptop. Beca was pretty sure she had made enough Bellas arrangements to last until she and Chloe retired in a couple of years), Beca was feeling _good_. It was amazing what not having toxic drugs pumped into your veins every few weeks could do to a girl. By the time she was eventually discharged (don’t even _start_ Beca on how long that took, with endless reviews by the surgeon, the junior doctor, the pharmacist, the wait for her discharge meds, the wait for Chloe to finish crying with happiness so they could just leave already, etc.) it had been a full 4 weeks and 3 days since Beca had had chemo, and she felt _great._ Her appetite was coming back, she was filling out a bit, her cheeks had a semblance of colour to them and her head… Beca smiled shyly, sitting in the taxi on the way home from the hospital, as she rubbed her hand over the soft, light brown fuzz covering her head at the moment. For now, for a few days at least, she felt good.

It wouldn’t last, of course. Beca still had 6 more cycles of chemotherapy to go, and this time it would be tougher. She would lose her hair again. She would be sick, again. Her lips would be chapped, her body exhausted, her sleep disrupted, again.

But for now, she felt good.


	16. A (birth)day in the life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick bit of fluff for the girls :)

“What’s going on Chlooo?” Beca whined as her giggling girlfriend dragged her down the corridor.

“Be patient! You’ll see!”

Beca pouted at this. It was 11am on her 20th birthday. She had known _something_ was going on – three times now she had walked into a room where Chloe and another Bella were talking and the conversation had ended instantly, accompanied by giggles and glances exchanged between the other two girls caught in the act. On one occasion, Emily had even opened her mouth, bouncing in her seat, and responded to Beca’s “What’s going on?” with only a “We’re-“ before Chloe’s hand was over the taller girl’s mouth and a finger was prodding her sharply in the side with a  dramatic “Shut UP Legacy!”. Once upon a time this might have worried Beca – she might have thought there was a secret, and the secret was bad, but these days Chloe was her girlfriend and she knew the Bellas loved her, so she trusted that giggling and shiny eyes wasn’t going to be a bad thing.

She was still pouting though.

“Chloe! It’s my birthday! You have to tell me what’s going on because I’m the BIRTHDAY GIRL!”

“Oh hush Bec, it’s your birthday so you’re not _allowed_ to know what’s going on because it’s a birthday surprise and you’re the BIRTHDAY GIRL!” Chloe retorted, shaking her head slightly at her girlfriends petulant impatience.

Beca pouted _again_ (“I can feel you pouting from here babe!” Chloe called, without turning around) and allowed Chloe to drag her downstairs. The dragging was a lot easier without her crutch, but was still pretty comical as Beca’s gait these days was very distinctive, lifting her whole right leg up every time she took a step.

Eager to bring her girlfriend to her surprise or not, Chloe still slowed down and turned around to help Beca successfully navigate the stairs. Somehow her foot not moving properly got in the way a lot more going down the fairly steep stairs than going up then, and neither Beca nor Chloe wanted to see the brunette fall head over heels down the stairs on her birthday.

Beca emerged at the bottom of the stairs to see… nothing?

Well, not nothing but… Just the girls, sitting around. Amy and Legacy on the sofa, Aubrey’s head poking round the kitchen door and Stacie laying knives and forks at the table.

“Oh, hey Bec,” Stacie said, smiling at the newcomers, “happy birthday!”

“Thanks Stace,” Beca replied, somewhat confused as to what was happening.

Then, as if there had been some invisible and silent signal, Stacie opened the kitchen door to reveal Aubrey again, but this time with a cake in her hands, resplendent with rainbow candles spelling out HAPPY BIRTHDAY! and a big 20. As the girls began to sing (in 5 part harmony naturally) Beca was shocked and appalled to feel her eyes prickling, and hoped to goodness her badass reputation wasn’t about the spoiled by her eyes leaking on her birthday. After a very dramatic ending to the traditionally simple song, Beca blew the candles out, beaming, and the girls all congregated around the kitchen table to eat tea from fancy tea cups and eat cake with cake forks (“Because it’s your birthday, Beca, and we’re a classy establishment” Fat Amy kindly pointed out).

“This is the best surprise ever guys, thank you so much!” Beca said, half an hour later, when all 6 girls were groaning slightly under the amount of lemon and pooppyseed cake they had eaten (“Couldn’t have you getting sick with the chocolate one could we Shortstack,” Amy pointed out, only a hint of mournful disappointment creeping into the statement). At this declaration all six girls began to exchange glances before Chloe said,

“That wasn’t the surprise, Bec. This is.”

She reached behind her to pick up two cards, one red, one white, which Beca hadn’t noticed propped on the radiator behind Chloe’s back, and put them on the table in front of Beca.

“Open this one first Beca, this one is the boring one,” Emily advised, although she was sitting straight up in her chair like an excited meerkat, and bouncing slightly with excitement.

“As long as you don’t fall out of your chair first Legacy,” Beca chuckled, reaching to take the white envelope from the table.

It was a boring looking envelop, the kind that A4 paper folded into 3 fits in, and it was pretty thick. Beca opened it, hands shaking only slightly, and unfolded the sheaf of papers inside.

“Tenancy Contract for Flat 6, 15 Redland Road… Wait, what is this? Did you guys find us a house?” Beca said, confusion and excitement evident in her voice. It was May now, and most people had already sorted their accommodation for the following academic year. Beca couldn’t believe that she had completely forgotten about it. But now, this piece of paper seemed to suggest…

“Not a house Bec, a flat. A 5 bedroom, ground floor flat. Aren’t you glad they built those freakishly large dolls house houses now?”

“No stairs?”

“No stairs.”

“Five bedrooms?!”

“Five bedrooms! Everyone is staying in Bristol for one more year… You, me, Aubrey and Emily will be studying, Aubrey just got a job at @Bristol, and Amy… Amy, what is it you’re doing again?” Chloe asked, looking at the blonde girl as if the answer was on the tip of her tongue.

“I’m being that person who brings snakes and lizards to children’s parties. I pushed for crocs but turns out that’s not allowed over here,” Amy replied, a twist of confusion towards the end of her sentence.

“Exactly, Amy is doing that. So, we’re all staying!”

Once again, Beca’s badass reputation was being threatened by the salt water slowly building up in her eyes. Her friends were staying in Bristol. They were staying with her, and they had found a flat that was close to uni _and_ didn’t have any stairs. Beca might not admit it very often, but every time she went down stairs these days, she was terrified of tripping. The idea that she wouldn’t have to do that every day, and that when she did eventually have her surgery to replace the ligament in her leg she would be able to recover on flat ground, meant almost more than she could say.

“Thanks guys,” she managed to choke out, tears finally spilling silently over her cheeks as she grinned.

“No Beca! Don’t start crying yet! That’s the boring surprise, open the other one, open the other one!” Emily practically yelled, pulling the tenancy agreement from Beca’s hand and shoving the red envelope at her to replace it.

“Ok, ok!” Beca relented, chuckling quietly at the younger girls exuberance.

Hands shaking even more this time, although mostly from excitement rather than nerves – whatever Legacy had said, there was no way this surprise was better than getting to live with her friends for one more year, in a flat she could navigate without fear – Beca opened the envelope.

And once again she was confused. The first thing she opened was an A4 letter, folded into four, and tucked in to the envelop in front of a rather thick feeling card.

“Dear Beca,” she read aloud, “It is our pleasure to offer you and 5 friends these VIP weekend tickets for Frost Fair 2016. We have also arranged hotel accommodation for you 30 minutes from site, and taxi to take you to, and pick you up from, the festival, daily…” at this point Beca’s voice trailed off, and her eyes skimmed to the bottom of the letter, “from the Make a Wish foundation, on behalf of your friends Chloe, Aubrey, Stacie, Amy and Emily”.

At this point, Beca couldn’t speak. She wasn’t even going to pretend there wasn’t a lump in her chest, that her throat wasn’t tight and her eyes weren’t full of tears. Everything was silent for a moment.

“We already spoke to your doctors and the nurses at the hospital, and there’s a tonne of things we’re gonna do to make sure you’re ok, and the docs are gonna give you extra medicine, and there’s a hospital nearby in case anything goes wrong, and-“ but Chloe’s anxious rambling was cut off Beca screech of excitement.

“We’re going to BoomTown?! All of us?! Tickets sold out months ago! How is this even happening?! Was this it? The sneaking and the giggling and the whispering and it was THIS?!”

“It was this. Sorry about the secrecy Bec but a lot of work goes into getting a Wish and we wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Which it was, no thanks to this one,” Amy pointed out smugly, once again prodding Emily in the side, making the younger girl blush furiously.

“I was just so excited!” she whined in her defence, slumping in her chair for once, long hair hanging in front of her face.

“You did good, Legacy,” Beca pointed out kindly, gently kicking the other girl’s shin until she sat up again, cheeks still fuchsia but with a smile on her face.

“You all did. Thank you so much guys, this is incredible. Like, super really awesome. Like, a lot.”

“Yeah well, you’re a pain in the ass but you’re kinda alright and almost worth the hassle,” Aubrey said, just about deadpan, and although her girlfriend gentle punched her shoulder in admonishment, there wasn’t a trace of bite in her statement.

“Good thing it doesn’t say which five friends I’m taking, eh Aubrey!” Beca grinned back with a wink. 

“Ok, enough enough enough,” Chloe interceded, before the faux shocked look on Aubrey’s face and Beca’s wicked smirk were fully expressed. “Now, because I am the best girlfriend ever-“ she looked to Beca for confirmation, and the smaller brunette rolled her eyes before pausing and nodding just once, “and because you all love me-“ Chloe turned to each of the Bella’s in turn to receive a variety of eye rolls, nods, and frantic shaking of her head from Aubrey, “-we’re going to sing!”

She cleared her throat and turning slightly towards a blushing Beca, began, “When I see your face…”

By the time the Bellas went retired to their respective bedrooms that night, their throats were raw from singing (every mix of Beca’s they had ever sung in any context in their entire Bella career), their abs were sore from laughing (not least at Amy’s 5 minute demonstration of Advanced Mermaid Dancing with Crocodiles) and their hearts were _full_ (mostly of each other).

But Beca’s birthday wasn’t over yet.

After their customary communal teeth-brushing, and after Beca had completed her usual vague struggle into her pyjamas (getting a foot that won’t behave into leggings is no easy feat), and just as she was about to turn her light off and crawl, exhausted, into bed, there was a gentle knocking on her door. Smiling to herself, she opened it to let a clean and shiny looking Chloe in.

They sat opposite each other on the bed, crossed legged and one hand holding the other’s between them.

“That was the best birthday ever Chlo.”

“Well, it isn’t quite over yet,” Chloe said, smiling as she drew her free hand from behind her back, holding a parcel Beca hadn’t noticed her holding before.

“Chloe! You already got me a present!” Beca protested.

“A Wish from Make a Wish doesn’t cost _me_ any money, dumbass, of course I was gonna buy you a present as well! Just take it!” Chloe refuted, rolling at her eyes at the stubborn brunette in front of her.

Rolling her own eyes at the excessive generosity of her girlfriend, Beca took the small box from Chloe’s hand.

The box was pretty small, and wrapping is _not_ Chloe’s strong point, so it took Beca a few minutes a several huffs of frustration before she was able to remove enough of the sellotape to actually rip the paper open, to reveal a small jewellery box.

“Chlo, I know about the stereotypes, but are you sure wanna propose before we’ve even had sex?” Beca joked, although her heart was thudding slightly in her chest.

“Just open it you idiot!” Chloe responded, growing more and more frustrated at the amount of time it took for Beca to just open the damned present.

“Ok, ok!” Beca replied, as she snapped open the box.

Inside was a necklace. A thin, delicate silver chain, on which rested two delicate pendants: a treble cleff and a base cleff, separate from each other, but on the same small ring.

“It’s beautiful, Chlo. Do it up for me?” Beca said, tears welling up in her eyes. In her own bedroom, in the evening, in her soft pyjamas, with just her bedside light and her Chloe sat opposite her, turning around and lifting her hair up for Chloe to fasten the clasp, Beca didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t crying with happiness.

“It’s the Bellas, but it’s also… Us. If you want it to be,” Chloe said shyly when she was done, eyes cast down at her own hands, clasped together and twisting in front of them.

“It’s the Bellas, and it’s us, and I’m never taking it off,” Beca replied softly, before leaning forward, her hand on Chloe’s cheek, tilting her girlfriend’s face up to face her before kissing her softly.

And she never did.  


	17. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: so this story is based on real life, but in real life I can’t quite remember how the whole festival situation worked out, and I can’t make it work how I wanted, and I’m sorry ok but lets all just pretend that BoomTown is in December and it’s a winter festival, and not in August when we all know it really is. If you could just suspend your disbelief regarding British music festivals and weather and day light hours that would be GRAND.

Ok, so, that was a lie. She _almost_ never took it off. But sometimes, you just gotta remove all the metal from your person to have a CT scan, whether you want to or not. But she never took it off when she had a _choice_ in the matter, that was for certain, and this was the _first_ time she had taken it off, a full 5 and a half months after her birthday. Which, honestly, having to take it off was so unfair and completely unreasonable. If she was going to have cancer she should at least be allowed to have a good luck charm she kept with her all the time, especially if her girlfriend wasn’t even allowed in the room with her when she was having a scan, and double especially as the cancer was in her leg and her necklace was round her neck so like, why does her neck need to be anywhere near the stupid machine anyway? And, anyway, there wasn’t supposed to be any cancer left so like, what was this stupid can for anyway?

Beca was grumpy. She was more than that, she was downright _pissed_.

It was late October, and frankly, things were _great_. Beca had had her last ever chemo a month ago, celebrated a couple of weeks back with an awesome party. Her hair was growing back, she had eyelashes again, she had just about got the hang of how to walk when she couldn’t life her foot up, she had the best girlfriend in the _entire_ world whom she almost had the energy to, heaven forbid, _have sex with_. Her and her favourite housemates had moved in their swanky new flat with _no stairs_ and a big living room and she as almost, _almost_ strong enough to go back to the Bella’s (National Champions, _obviously_ ) even if it was just to sing for now – her dancing with a floppy foot skills could do with some work, but Beca was feeling pretty optimistic about the whole thing. But now Beca had to have The Scan, the scan to check all the cancer was gone. And even though Beca was like, 97% sure she was in the lucky percent and everything was _fine_ , some part of her, deep down, the part that made mixes in the middle of the night with her friend’s names as their file names, the part that woke up in the middle of the night with Chloe’s arms around her and just basked in feeling of being held and loved and safe, the part of her that had only stuffed her wig in a box within a box under her bed, rather than throw it out like she had pretended to, _that_ part of her was scared. And when Beca was scared, she got grumpy. Reasons Beca might give for being grumpy might include, but not be limited to: being in a hospital gown, being hungry, drinking yucky tasting contrast, being hungry, taking her necklace off, being in a hospital gown, being in a _hospital_ , the gross taste in her mouth from the contrast, how damn long this takes, and being in a hospital.

But eventually, after TWENTY WHOLE MINUTES of lying down in a metal tube, feeling a bit chilly and trying to breathe normally which, as soon as you think about it basically becomes impossible, the technician was finally coming in with her crutches and telling Beca that she could go into the side room and get dressed and _go home_. Music to Beca’s ears.

After pulling on her clothes, no longer having to be careful of a PICC line in her chest, and avoiding the struggle of the supremely uncooperative foot by wearing a skirt, Beca walked out of the changing room, into the waiting area of the Imaging department, to see her favourite redhead trying to pretend to read a magazine, but really glancing upwards in the direction of the CT machine every few seconds, so that it wasn’t long ‘til she saw Beca standing there.

“Hey! How’d it go? How are you feeling?” she asked, jumping up to gather Beca into a hug instantaneously.

“ _oomph!_ -  it went fine but there’s a chance you just broke my ribs so maybe I’ll have to go back for another one. Maybe I’ll have to find a new girlfriend who’s a little less violent in her affections.” Beca smirked into Chloe’s shoulder, contradicting her words, squeezing Chloe just as hard.

Pulling back just enough to plant a firm kiss on Beca’s lips, Chloe almost sang, ”No you won’t because I didn’t break your ribs and you’re finally all done with medicine and you love me and I’m your ride home,” Chloe refuted, turning towards the exit, linking her arm through Beca’s and tugging her girlfriend gently along as they continued their conversation.

“I still have to come back for my appointment for the scan results Chlo,”

“But not for a few days at least, right?”

“Right, not for a few days. There’s a meeting? I think there’s a meeting, where all the doctors and nurses get together and bitch about us. I think I have to wait for the bitching meeting before I have my appointment and they finally let me go.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not called a bitching meeting Bec.”

“Pretty sure it is, Chlo. What else do you call it when you have a whole meeting just to talk about people behind their backs?”

“Erm, I don’t know, a multidisciplinary meeting? Which you know full well because Stacie was explaining about them to you before? But ok, if it makes you happy babe, we’ll call it the bitch meeting.”

“Bitch _ing_ meeting, Cho, bitch _ing_. It’s not all bitches. Lots of the consultants are men.”

“Fine. The point is, you have to wait until after this bitch _ing_ meeting for you to have your appointment, right? And when do they have them again?”

“Tuesdays. So, tomorrow. The nurse said they would talk about it at the meeting tomorrow, and then let me know.”

“So you have an appointment on Wednesday?”

“No, so the nurse will ring me on Wednesday and _tell_ me when my appointment is. You know sometimes it annoys me that they just assume that because I have cancer I can come at their beck and call. What if I have a prior engagement, y’know?”

“Do you have any engagements in the next week Beca?”

“…No.”

“Can you come in for an appointment that tells you, you don’t have cancer any more, at any time, Beca?”

“….Yes”

“Then stop moaning and get in the car, we have cookies to eat,” Chloe ended, approaching the car that Stacie had brought them in, opening the back door and settling Beca and her crutches in, before going round to the backseat on the other sidee.

“All fine?” Stacie asked, meeting Beca’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“No! They made me take my necklace off and the contrast tastes yuck and I’m hungry but I feel sick and they have no consideration for my potentially busy schedule and I hate hospitals,” Beca huffed back, rolling her eyes and looking out the window.

Stacie’s gaze met Chloe’s instead.

“So, fine then?” she confirmed, sharing an affectionate but mildly exasperated look with the redhead.

“Yep! All fine”.

 

* * *

 

 

Beca was glad that no one was in the house at 4pm on Tuesday morning. Chloe was

When her phone rang. 

“Hello?” her voice shook as she answered.

“Hi, is that Rebecca Mitchell?”

“Y-yyeah,” she stammered.

“Hi, Rebecca. My name is Michelle Watkins, I’m Mr MacDonald’s secretary. I’m just ringing to let you know that you’ve got an appointment in Mr MacDonald’s clinic tomorrow morning at 12.30, here at the Royal Infirmary.”

“…Ok,” Beca almost whispered back, her mind exploding with questions about why her appointment was so soon, why it wasn’t with her usual doctor, what the name of the clinic she was going to even was.

“You’ll see him in the Outpatients department, just come to the reception desk and they’ll let you know what room you’re going to be in, ok?”

“Ok,” Beca whispered again, her voice if anything even more hoarse than it had been before.

“Just ring if you have any difficulties, ok Rebecca?”

“It’s Beca. Ok. Thank you. Bye,” and with shaking hands, Beca hung up the phone.

 

* * *

 

Wednesdays were Chloe’s favourite day of the week. All of her lectures were finished by 12 with the afternoon left free for sport, which in the a cappella world that she lived in, meant Bellas practise.

She hummed as she walked up the hill from the lecture theatre, ready to go home and see Beca, maybe find out from her when she had her all-clear appointment, make the pair of them some lunch, and a real portion of it too, with Beca’s appetite returning in the weeks since she’d finished chemo. The fact that Beca had hardly eaten _anything_ last night caused her to frown for only a second, before shrugging her shoulders, supposing that when your appetite has been gone for almost a year, it’s understandable if it doesn’t quite come back all at once. Mentally adjusting how many pieces of cheese on toast she would be making for Beca from 2 down to 1 ½, Chloe continued her hummed rendition of _Happy_ because, well, she was.

Slipping her key into the lock and pushing the door open, she called for her girlfriend, half expecting her to be asleep and not answer her, as she had only texted Chloe _once_ that morning – approximately 10 times less than she would usually text Chloe when she had a full morning of lectures. Smiling quietly to herself, she pushed open the door to Beca’s bedroom, gentling singing out her girlfriend’s name, already looking forward to seeing her in her beautifully confused, just-roused state.

But Beca’s bed was empty, the duvet pushed aside, clothes covering her floor.

Chloe frowned.

“Beca?” she called again, more loudly this time as she turned the corner and walked a little further down the corridor to the open plan kitchen-living room-dining room space. It wasn’t until she saw the empty sofa there that her heart really got going.

“BECA?” she yelled, running through the house, throwing open the doors to other girls’ bedrooms one at a time, but no, no one was in.

_Ok, calm down Beale. She’s not an invalid, she can leave the house. She’s probably gone to the shops. She’s_ fine. _Just ring her, find out where she is, stop being a crazy person, everything will be ok._

“… _You have reached the voicemail service of 0-7-7-“_ Chloe almost roared in frustration as she stabbed the little red button on her phone, hanging up the automated female voice, interrupting it’s stilted, staccato  recitation of the number Chloe knew forwards, backwards and sideways by heart. Cursing her shaking fingers she tried again, only to roar with frustration even _louder_ as the robotic voice started up again.

Panic was rising in Chloe properly now, heart pounding and palm sweating, breaths ragged and shallow and the world seeming to sound and feel and look just a little bit further away and fuzzier than it usually did. Her vision was becoming silvery and spotty and there was a whooshing in her eyes. It suddenly occurred to Chloe what was happening, and she got a fleeting glimpse of Stacie opening the door to the living area before the ringing noise took over completely, her vision rushing away from her as she crumpled to the floor.

 

 

The next thing she was aware of was the feeling of something soft under her head. Then she realised she could make out Stacie’s voice, talking to someone, telling someone that Chloe had fainted. Only then did it occur to her to open her eyes, a little dazed at first, to see Stacie’s face looking worriedly down at her, phone grasped to her ear initially, but straight away set aside as soon as Chloe’s blue eyes blinked open.

“Hey, Chlo, you’re ok, you just fainted,” Stacie said in her reassuring, student doctor voice, softly stroking Chloe’s hair off of her pale, clammy face, watching anxiously as those clear blue eyes blinked a few times, trying to make the world clearer. And then suddenly-

“Beca!” Chloe yelled as she shot up, sitting bolt upright, eyes wide as they darted round the room, hoping Beca had somehow magically appeared.

“Beca, Beca, where’s Beca?!” she started to yell, pushing herself off the floor, trying to catch her breath, swatting away Stacie’s hands before the world began to swim again, spots in front of her eyes and ringing in her ears again, at which point she couldn’t resist Stacie’s gentle tugging to the floor, where she landed ungracefully with a bump.

“Chloe, you’re hyperventilating, and if you keep hyperventilating and trying to stand up, you’re going to pass out, ok?” Stacie’s calm voice began, trying to ignore the pit of anxiety in her own stomach at the site of Chloe, pale and panicked, and the knowledge that had sent her flying home from placement early sitting like a rock in her throat.

Chloe didn’t respond verbally, too out of breath by this point to get a word out, but her wide, panic stricken eyes did meet Stacie’s.

“I need you to listen to me counting our breaths, and feel me breathing with you, ok?” Stacie said, voice still calm, picking up Chloe’s cold hand a placing on her chest, on the warm skin just above her breasts, her I’ve-got-to-look-like-a-doctor shirt unbuttoned slightly so there was nothing between Chloe’s hand and her moving chest.

“We’re going to breathe in for 4, out for 6, ok Chloe? With me ok, In-two-three-four, Out-two-three-four-five-six, In-two-three…,” exaggerating her own chests movements so that even Chloe’s panicked mind could feel them.

After a few minutes of this, satisfied that Chloe was no longer hyperventilating, Stacie gently picked up the hand that had been lying on her chest. Gesturing that Chloe should stay sitting down (knowing the effect the news she had to give her friend might just start the whole process off again and _not_ wanting to deal with a fainting Chloe), she took a deep breath herself, before telling Chloe,

“Beca is in the hospital.”

Fortunately for Chloe, you can’t fall from the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

Chloe didn’t say a word as Stacie drove her to the hospital. She hadn’t said a word when Stacie had told her where Beca was. She had barely listened as Stacie relayed the story of one of her fellow medical students seeing the other Bella in a waiting room at the hospital, had texted Stacie asking if her housemate was ok, of how Stacie had left her own placement at a different hospital, beyond grateful that she had driven that day rather than taking the bus, and had cone home as fast as she could, to tell Chloe, to get Chloe. Because Stacie knew Beca, and knew that Beca loved Chloe more than anyone else in the world, and that if the new wass bad Beca would try and protect Chloe from it, but that she needed her, and that Chloe needed to be there for her. And Stacie knew the news was bad, because there is only one reason to be seen not 2 days after a CT scan, and that was if there was bad news. So Stacie had told her story, and although Chloe still looked pale at the end of it, her eyes glassy, her face blank, she was no longer as pale as she had been at the beginning, and Stacie was no longer scared she was going to pass out the instant she stood up again. Chloe hadn’t spoken as Stacie had stood up, had reached her hands down to clasp Chloe’s, had pulled the other girl up, wrapped an arm around her waist, lead her outside (not bothering to lock the front door of the flat, not wanting to let go of her friend for even a moment), gently ushered her into the front seat of her waiting car. Chloe had stayed silent while Stacie rang Aubrey on speakerphone, hadn’t reacted to the panic Aubrey had tried to keep out of her voice while she arranged with Stacie to meet them at the outpatient department.

Chloe didn’t say a single word until she saw Beca walking out of a consulting room in the Outpatient department of the hospital, pale and silent herself. She didn’t say a single word until Beca uttered the two words Chloe never wanted to hear.

“It’s spread.”

And then Chloe pulled Beca to her, wrapped her arms around her girlfriend who felt so small and fragile in that moment, nuzzled her face against the cashmere hat Beca worn against the chill air conditioning in the hospital, and even then she only uttered one word, so softly that Beca would be forgiven for not hearing it.

“Fuck.”

And then the world fell apart. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the shit hits the fan.


	18. 17 days, 23 minutes, and one leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something of a mini chapter, I apologise. It was extremely difficult to write. We're approaching unknown territory now, and I'm slightly realising that I'm out of my depth. I'm doing my best though, and I hope it's ok. 
> 
> Stay safe gang. xx

17 days.

It has been 17 days since Chloe had fainted at the sight of an empty house. 17 days since she and Stacie drove to the hospital to find Beca. 17 days since Beca collapsed, sobbing, into her arms, in a busy hospital waiting room.

17 days since the world slipped out from under them.

Again.

And beyond the two words that had kicked it all off, Beca has said _nothing_ about what was happening.

She was there, at home. She was in the flat: in her room watching TV, or sometimes taking long, long showers (in the shower, in the wetroom, with the grab rail, because no one would say that Beca’s friends didn’t love her), or, just occasionally, in the kitchen, pouring a bowl of cereal. She was in the sitting room in the evenings, snuggled under a blanket, in an arm chair by herself. She did not attend the mere 6 hours a week of contact time expected of her, as a 3rd year English student, and she was not present at Bellas practises, despite still being the Captain, in name at least. But she was there. She was around.

She wasn’t even quiet or morose. She asked the girls about their days, she listened eagerly to stories of reptiles are children’s parties, of inconsiderate consultants and lab experiments gone wrong. She even spent some of her evenings hunched over in a corner of the living room with Legacy, discussing recording and producing, tracks and layers and balances and _sounds_.

So she was there, and she was loud. She just wasn’t talking, and she wasn’t touching. She wasn’t answering questions, she wasn’t hugging hello or goodbye, she wasn’t even sharing her bed with Chloe, despite a summer of passing out in a wave of chemo-exhaustion every night of the summer. The one time Chloe had tried, the night they had come back from the hospital, the first day Beca didn’t say anything, the last time Chloe had brushed her teeth with the younger girl, changed into her pajamas, slid into _her side_ of the bed to join Beca, slipped an arm around her girlfriend’s waist, Beca had stiffened so suddenly and so completely that Chloe had pulled her arm away as though from fire, before Beca could burn her further by shrugging it off herself. She had fumbled some excuse, made something up, rushed from the warm duvet in the warm room and into her own, barely slept in bed. She had cried herself to sleep, and in the morning, when she saw Beca in the kitchen, matching puffy eyes, they hadn’t talked about it. Hadn’t mentioned it. Hadn’t done anything except dance around each other to make cereal, to take back to their respective rooms and eat in silence.

But it had been 17 days now, and Chloe didn’t know what was happening, and it was _not ok._

 

“What’s going on, Bec?”

“Umm, I’m watching Gossip Girl, what does it look like?”

“Beca, you know what I mean.”

“Nope, I don’t. Cos all that’s going on is I’m trying to watch Gossip Girl, and you’re missing it!”

“Beca, cut the shit. You KNOW what I’m talking about. Please, just talk to me, _please.”_

“Look Chlo, they want to cut my leg off and I’ll probably die anyway, but I really want to know who Gossip Girl is, so can you please just give me a break until the end of this episode and _then_ we can talk?”

“…” Chloe isn’t sure she’s even breathing at this point, let alone speaking.

“Good.”

Because what does a person even say to that? Chloe was become all to intimately familiar with the feeling that the floor had disappeared from under her, the lurching of her stomach into her chest and her heart into her gut, the pounding of her heart and the fainting ringing in her ears that signalled a sheer inability to engage with reality, an utterly physical withdrawal from the here and now, as if her whole body and mind were momentarily sucked into a different plane, out of time, before crashing, bodily, into irrefutable existence and an uncontrollable presence in the present. It’s hard to explain, that feeling, as if for a second you whole body leaps, and then it lands, and you’re there, and your girlfriend’s body is still riddled with cancer, and Gossip Girl is still playing on the laptop in front of you.

It is, in fact, 23 minutes later, when the body beside Chloe reaches forward, pressing the spacebar to pause the show before the almost unstoppable countdown of 16 seconds until the next episode starts. Chloe was still feeling numb, still tingling in her body and brain when Beca gently slipped a hand into hers and she snapped out of it, reminding herself for the umpteenth time that this was happening _to Beca_ , and she had to be the strong one.

“It’s spread a lot, Chlo,” Beca starts, one hand still in Chloe’s, and her voice softer now.

“It’s spread up the blood vessels in my leg. It’s past my knee and into my thigh. The only thing they can do is to cut my leg off, really high up, and then give me batshit crazy chemo which might kill me itself. They want to cut my leg off, Chloe, and they want me to let them.”

Beca spoke quietly, kept her voice level, stayed calm. But Chloe’s mind is reeling and the world is spinning and she has literally _no idea_ how she is supposed to respond in this situation.

“What do you mean, you have to let them?” is the first question she manages to ask.

“I mean, I have to consent to it. I have to sign a piece of paper that says that I’m ok with them cutting my leg off. I have to sign a piece of paper to say that I’m ok with them taking away an entire limb, I’m ok with having to learn how to walk again, to being completely dependent on crutches or a wheelchair for _months_ , maybe forever. I have to say I’m ok with probably never being able to dance again. They want to take my _leg_ Chloe, and maybe I could do without a foot, y’know? But you can’t do shit without a knee. I have to let them do it, or I’ll die. And I might die anyway, and I don’t even know which one I would prefer.”

“I’m sorry Becs,” Chloe says, because honestly, what is she supposed to say at this point? Her mind is reeling and she can’t think in a straight line between now and when everything will be ok.

“It’s ok,” Beca sighs, and for a minute the silence hangs heavy in the air between them. Chloe feels like she should say something, but she still doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s late. You wanna brush your teeth?” is what she eventually offers, and it probably isn’t the right thing to say, but somehow Beca gives a small smile anyway, and Chloe stands up first, reaching back to help the other girl off the bed, finding her, her crutch, and opening the door for the pair of them.

When they’ve brushed their teeth, Chloe goes to the loo first and heads downstairs while Beca is in the bathroom. She hesitates outside Beca’s door for a moment. She hasn’t slept in Beca’s bed, as she did every day _before_ (before the hospital, before “it’s spread”, before Beca sobbing in her arms) and now it is _after_ and part of her wants nothing more than to go to bed with Beca and hold her while she sleeps, hold her tight and close while she’s warm and breathing and has two legs, all the while vehemently denying that any of those things might change.

But then her eyes fill with tears and the air rushes out of her lungs as if someone has punched her diaphragm up and she is in her own room with the door shut before she hears the clunk of the bathroom door unlocking.

By the time Beca has made it out of the bathroom door, Chloe is face down on her bed and crying like she has never cried before.

Eventually, in an hour or so, she’ll fall asleep, and a couple of hours after that she’ll wake up, body stiff, uncomfortable with the unfamiliar feelings of being asleep in jeans, in her bra, with her make up on. Her eyes will string from the daylight-bright spotlights in her room, and her face will ache with swollen eyelids and salted tear tracks. She will stumble to the light switch by the door, turn the light off before pulling her jeans off, will kick them away from her, completely inside out. She’ll slip her bra straps down her arms, take it off without removing her t-shirt, and collapse again, under the covers this time, before falling asleep again, and waking up in the morning with puffy eyes and a second of confusion before the pit will return to her stomach.

All that is to come, but right now, she lies on her bed and sobs.


	19. Second date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys it's been long but this chapter is long. I'm living in two different places at the moment and I'm finding it really hard to do ANYTHING (hi black dog, how's it going? anyone with me on this?) including the shit-you-have-to-do-to-live stuff, as well as the writing-stuff-because-maybe-a-few-people-want-to-read-it stuff. So I'm sorry but also I'm trying my best. This chapter is long and has fluffy bits to make up for it but I'm sorry that it isn't perfect and it's not betad. I had to get it written so I could write the next one. I hope it's ok and that you're ok.
> 
> Added: HAHAHA i just realised i uploaded the version where i wrote a whole bunch in white font on a white background so the guy next to me couldn't read it so there were some HORRIBLE typos, which I have now fixed. SORRY LADS.

With Beca’s confession, something broke. It’s not so much that they suddenly start talking about it all the time – they don’t – or that everything is ok again – it isn’t – but something has shifted, and things are maybe on the way to being fine.

It began with Chloe waking up the next morning, eyes puffy and cheeks salty and sore, and creeping into Beca’s bed, with a nuzzled kiss at the nape of her neck, with a murmured “Chloe?” and a hushed “I’m here”, and it carried on that night with Beca on the sofa (rather than the armchair she had renegaded herself to) and a shared blanket, with no space between them and hands linked in Chloe’s lap, and it finally settled into place as two warm bodies settled next to each other in Beca’s bed.

 

* * *

 

 

For the next two weeks, they didn’t talk about It. They talked _a lot_ – about Gossip Girl and Pretty Little Liars ( _“Why do all the queer women die Chlo? Why can’t Emily keep a girlfriend for more than 5 minutes when everyone elses sig-Os have been around for 6 season?”_ ), about the Bella’s setlist ( _“I’ve been talking to Legacy and boy can that girl write songs. Screw covers Chlo, you guys should sing an original”)_ and about Chloe’s degree ( _“Why oh why did I do organic again Beca? Why? Why didn’t I just stick to the quantum mechanics and leave all these curly arrowed mechanisms behind?”)_ and almost every other topic under the sun, but they did _not_ talk about It. Occasionally, references were made to the future, to _‘next year’_ and ‘ _after’_ , but they almost always came from Chloe, and they were almost always followed with a noncommittal humming noise on Beca’s part, and a swift change of the subject. Except on the one occasion it ended differently.

 

Beca had been quiet all day. Beca was sometimes quiet these days, and Chloe tried, she _tried_ to respect that, but anyone who has met Chloe knows that silence is not her strong suit, and that her parents call her a random number generator for her ability to pluck new topics of conversation out of thin air if necessary. (incidentally, this comes in extremely useful whenever they go and visit Chloe’s grandma; it bothers Chloe not one bit that the elderly lady is utterly unable to contribute anything other than ‘that’s nice dear’ to a conversation, she can fill the silence like a champ). So when Beca was being quiet as they sat together on the sofa, with some mindless music video channel playing in the background, Chloe just had to speak.

“So, are you excited for FrostTown Fair?!” she burst out with – the festival that the Make a Wish foundation had got them tickets for was that weekend, only 5 days away, and the final line up of performers had been announced, including Beca’s favourite cynic and lyric genius, Tim Minchin. The other girls in the house had been talking excitedly about it for weeks, but for some reason Beca had taken to falling silent every time the topic came up.

Beca stiffened. Chloe could feel the tension in the other girl’s shoulders, and when she turned to look at the girl beside her, Beca’s eyebrows were furrowed and her lip was between her teeth.

“Umm… about that. “ Beca said, quietly, as if she wasn’t really willing to believe she was talking at all.

“What Bec? Don’t you want to go? Aren’t you excited?” Chloe began, “Because I mean, it’s going to be so fun. W’ere all going to go, and well all help you, and if you’re worried abut, well, anything, you know, we’ll all-”

“It’s not that, Chlo. It’s just that I ummm…. “

“You what Becs?” Chloe asked, almost unsure of herself (as if that was something Chloe Beale ever was).

“I gave the tickets back.”

“...”

Stunned silence

“You… gave them back? How?” Chloe asked, confused, a little hurt, but mostly just not understanding what Beca was saying.

“Iwas feeling really shitty like, super shitty. And I…. I rang the Make a Wish foundation. I asked them if, if I gave my wish back, they would still be able to use the money to help other kids get their wishes. And they said yes. And so I gave it back. I told them….”

“You told them what,Beca?” Chloe asked, although it didn’t sound like a question, more like a statement.

“I told them that I was you, and that I’d… died. I told them I’d died and that was why I couldn’t use the tickets anymore.”

Stunned silence, again.

“I’m so sorry Chloe. I was feeling so upset, and frustrated, and angry. It was the day after my doctors appointment, the day after they told me… what they told me. And I was just so angry that , just when I thought the future was a thing that I could think about again, everything was uncertain and scary and unfair again. I was supposed to have finished chemo, to be all cured, to be celebrating finally being free and able to do normal stuff by going to that festival with you guys, and suddenly everything was gone again. I wasn’t going to be healthy. I was still going to have cancer. Nothing would be normal. And then then, when they said that they would be able to use the money for another wish, that’s when I decided Because even though at he start of that conversation I felt shitty and sad and scared and angry, it made me feel a tiny bit better that something good was going to happen for someone else. And I know I wasn’t really giving anything because it wasn’t really mine in the first place but…. It still made me feel better. I’m so sorry Chloe. I know how hard you worked and I- I’m sorry.”

For a few minutes, after Beca’s unusually impassioned and length monologue, there was silence. And then Chloe wrapped her arms round the small brunette next to her.

“I’m sorry Becs,” she said softly. “I’m sorry that you felt that way, and I’m sorry that we won’t be able to go. But i’m glad that someone else can have the wish.”

“Thank you for not being mad at me,” Beca ventured.

“Oh, I’m mad,” Chloe replied, perking up slightly, “but I already know how you’re going to make it up to me.”

“Oh yeah?” Beca grinned, this sounded more like her Chloe, not that sad, soft, sombre Chloe of a second ago.

“Yep! Date night.”

“Date night?”

“Uh-huh”

“I’m making up for ruining a weekend you’d been planning for months by taking you on a date?”

“Nope! You’re making up for ruining a weekend with our housemates that I’d been planning for months by letting me take you on a date! How you make it up to the others is entirely up to you.”

And the scheming began.

 

* * *

 

 

First off, Beca had to tell her housemates that their long-awaited trip to London for the festival was, in fact, cancelled. And explain to them why.

The day after her conversation with Chloe, after 24 hours of frantic activity on her part, she had called a house meeting. She sat on the coffee table, facing the sofa, bottom lip trapped between her teeth and her right hand tapping an incessant rhythm on the top of a pile of CDs stacked next a place of cookies on the table next to her, the tempo of her anxiety only increasing as the Bellas filtered in one by one. When they were all there, she met Chloe’s eye, sitting opposite her in one corner of the sofa, with Amy and Stacie squished in next to her, and Emily’s lanky frame folded up, perched on the arm. Although not technically a member of the “house”, Aubrey was curled up on the floor in front of the sofa, back resting on Stacie’s legs, and the two girls’ hands entwined on the blonde’s shoulder. Not breaking eye contact with Beca, Chloe took a deep breath, looking at Beca to do the same, and then nodded. Beca tried not to look at the eyes of the other Bellas, all of whom looked confused.

“So… Guys. I… have some news. Most of which, I’m not gonna lie, is not good, so, I’m y’know, sorry in advance, and that,” she stumbled over her words awkwardly, wishing she had rehearsed this, wishing she could pull this off like a well-oiled Bella performance. But alas, that was not the case. She was shaking slightly now, her breath that much harder to catch as her lungs seem to shiver with the rest of her body. Her eyes were wide and she really wasn’t sure she was going to be able to get any of these words out. She was shaking more now and-

-again, she caught Chloe’s eye, and again the older girl kept her eye contact and took a deep breath, this time with her hand on her chest. Beca mirrored her actions, but it wasn’t until Chloe shuffled forward (not without difficulty, squashed as she was between the arm of the sofa and the arm of Fat Amy), til she could get herself off the sofa, and joined Beca perched on the edge of the coffee table.

Chloe was somehow not shaking. Since her conversation with Beca the day before, a sense of calm had seemed to descend on her. Beca was scared and angry and afraid and Beca needed her help. Therefore, she would, and could, help her.

“You all know Beca had a CT scan a couple of weeks ago,” Chloe began, her voice calm and measured, her hand clasped in Beca’s, grounding the girl next to her, saying the things she couldn’t say.

“We hoped that she was gonna get the all clear at that scan, but what it actually showed is that the tumour has got bigger. It’s spread from the bones in her leg, to the blood vessels going up to her thigh, and they want her to have her leg amputated mid-thigh. Soon, Obviously Beca is not thrilled at this idea”

 

 

Silence. Another deep breath.

“In light of that, Beca was feeling shitty and grumpy, and cancelled the tickets for next weekend’s Frost Fair. She’s-”

“-I’m really sorry, guys.” Beca finally chimed in, eyes downcast, feeling thoroughly ashamed at herself. If the situation had been literally anything other than what it was, Chloe might have rolled her eyes: as if anyone was going to remember to be cross with her after it had just been announced that she had to _have her leg amputated_ , Beca was even more ridiculous than she had originally estimated.

There was silence. Emily look mildly horrified. Stacie and Aubrey looked unsurprised, although if Beca had looked, which she didn’t, she would have noticed that both girls’ knuckles had whitened, slightly, from the force with which they gripped each other’s hands. Amy’s head was cocked to the side, and she opened her moth without speaking for a moment before-

“Well shortstack, it’s pretty crappy that we don’t get to go to that awesome music festival and listen to the Bard of my homeland singing explicitly blasphemous but hilarious songs, but it is at least 12 times shitter that you’re joining the ranks of the peg-legged shortly. The cookies are the consolation prize, right?” she proclaimed, reaching forward from her seat on the couch for the plate of cookies next to Beca, “although, you could be a pirate, and that could be fun…”

“I’m so sorry Beca,” Emily finally stuttered, tears in her eyes, “don’t worry like, at all, about the tickets, we just umm… we just want to help you,” the younger girl trailed off, hot tears trickling down her face now as Beca reached forward and grabbed her hand sympathetically.

“Thanks Em,” Beca almost whispered, giving her friend’s hand a squeeze. True, it was Beca who was supposed to be saying that some surgeon she had yet to meet could reprieve her of one of her four crucial limbs, but she had been sitting on this information for two weeks, and was a whole 14 months older than Emily. She had this.

No one really knew what to say at this point. Every had questions, but in the past few months a general understanding had developed amongst the Bellas that they wouldn’t burden Beca with the weight of all of those questions. As a general rule, questions were directed at Stacie, as the Bella with the most medical knowledge and access to sensible sources, and were absolutely _not_ directed at Beca, or Chloe, _or google_ , because that way lay nightmares and misinformation. So Beca was blissfully ignorant of the frantic, panicked, and tearful discussion that took place in Stacie’s room that afternoon, while she and Chloe snuggled in bed to marathon the Gilmore Girl’s.

 (In a fit of solidarity, and in keeping with their Universities bizarre emphasis on the fact that they could take a year out of their degree up to three times with barely any good reason should they so feel the need, Chloe had abandoned Chemistry for the year. Beca had, of course, postponed her third and final year _again_ , and neither girl was in any way trying to consider the amount of money they would owe to the Student Loans Company by the time either of them actually graduated. Thank God for single parents and maintenance grants, was all Beca had to say on the subject of money. To cut a long story short, they both had time on their hands these days, and they largely spent it together, in bed, watching Gilmore Girls. Because life in Stars Hollow in the early noughties was _infinitely_ better than Bristol 2k16.)

 

 

* * *

 

That Friday, the day that Chloe was taking Beca out to make up for Beca screwing up (Beca was never gonna understand that girl but she was _not_ complaining), Chloe herself was suspiciously absent. Beca woke up, cocooned as usual in her and Chloe’s bed (because who was she kidding about it being _her_ bed), and for a second just revelled in the feeling of warmth and softness the duvet and the arms wrapped around her brought. She sleepily opened her eyes to the dimly lit room, and then –

“Stacie?!”

“Shhhh Bec, too early,” Stacie murmured from behind her, hot breath on the back of Beca’s bare neck, her distinctly _not_ red or curly hair rustling under Beca’s chin.

“Stacie, where the hell is my girlfriend, and, in the nicest possible way, what the hell are you doing here?!”  
Stacie sighed, apparently resigned to the fact that she was expected to be awake, and shifted back from Beca slightly, allowing the smaller girl to roll over and look at her.

“Chloe had to go into uni, she had an early meeting with her educational supervisor, she’s not sure when she’s gonna be back but maybe not til this afternoon. Something about some lab work being left over.” Stacie recited. Recited, as if she’d learnt what she was supposed to say before she’d even said it.

“Right…,” Beca replied, not entirely sure what was going on, but knowing the brunette in front of her was far too stubborn to tell the truth if she wasn’t supposed to be, “and you’re here because…?”

“Because apparently your whiny ass can’t sleep without being a human teddy bear. She didn’t want you to get cold, or something? Anyway, because she asked me to be, so nuh,” Stacie replied, a little more energetic now, sounding more like herself and emphasising her point by sticking her tongue out in Beca’s face.

“Ewwww. Morning breath. You wanna brush your teeth?” Beca replied with a wrinkled nose. She didn’t buy this meeting business, but if Chloe was going for a surprise date, Beca wasn’t going to stop her. And brushing her teeth was still super boring.

 

And so the day wore on, with no sign from Chloe. Beca had a few texts from her ( _My meeting was super long and I am SO BORED / This lab is dull and slow and blah I just wanna know who Rory picks once and for all goddammit / Did someone make you lunch? Please say someone made you lunch and you didn’t try to make lunch. / Don’t worry, you’re gonna see me soon! Stace is gonna bring you and the girls to Ikea – they need furniture and we need a DATE)_ but nothing about Chloe’s bright and airy tone over text based communication was making Beca any less suspicious. Still, she had no idea where the girl could be, so she buckled down and let Stacie take care of her for the day. She didn’t really _need_ taking care of, but she knew for some reason it made the girls feel better when she let them do things for her, and she wasn’t _really_ complaining about Aubrey making her cheese on toast for lunch, or Emily running upstairs to get her laptop charger for her when the dreaded “You have 10% remaining” message popped up on screen, a mere 57 minutes into Serenity.

At 2.30pm, just after cheese on toast and serenity, when Beca was warm and sleepy, she was instructed to put on nice jeans and a nice top, and get in the car. Apparently they were going to Ikea.

“Ikea?” she asked sceptically, getting changed in her room while Stacie sat on her bed.

“Yep!” Stacie replied, mouth popping on the ‘p’ and leaning back on her hands, “Ikea. Now hurry up Becs, we’ve got things to do.

“Like buy furniture?” Beca muttered under breath, but she allowed herself to be chivied out the house, along with Amy and Emily, by a slightly flustered Stacie, to Aubrey’s waiting car. Piled in the back seat with Emily and Stacie (you don’t even need to know Amy’s argument for being in the front to guess that it was both ridiculous, and compelling), warm with a blanket snug on her lap and sleepy with her belly full of toasted cheese, it came as a surprise to exactly no one, and was in exactly _no_ _one’s_ plans, that Beca fell asleep.

 

Beca was disorientated when she woke up, brain fuzzy and unsure where exactly she was. The car. Stacie. Aubrey. Chloe. Ikea. Ikea?

It was dark outside, but there were bright lights everywhere. The car wasn’t moving anymore, and her right side was cold where Stacie and Emily weren’t anymore, and it was then that Beca realised what had woken her up: a smiling, glowing Chloe was knocking on the window she had been sleeping against. Slowly, stiff from where she had been curled up to sleep, Beca sat up and wound down the window.

“Hi!”

“Hey… Where were you Chlo? And where are you? I mean where are we?” Beca asked, still confused and sleep addled.

Chloe smiled sympathetically, “well get out the car, silly, and you’ll see!”

Limbs still protesting at their changing position, Beca unfolded herself from her ball, rolled down the window and got out of the car, Chloe quickly passing her her crutches, to see…

The Royal Albert Hall. FrostTown Fair. Tim Minchin.

“Chloe, you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did!”

“How?!”

“I got up at 4am, I snuck Stacie into bed with you-“

“-that, I noticed,”

“-and I got the 5am Megabus to London, I was in the queue by 9 and… here we are!”

At that point, Beca let her crutches fall to either side of her and threw herself at her girlfriend, hands on the other girl’s rosie cheeks, and kissed her furiously.

“You” – kiss – “are” – “the” – “best” – “girlfriend” – “EVER!” she yelled between kisses. And picking up Beca's crutches from the floor, off they went.

 

 

 

The night went off without a hitch. The ‘seats’ they had were in fact standing, but Chloe being Chloe had bought one of those collapsible stool situations with her, and had packed a bag full of illicit drinks and snacks to keep the six girls going all evening. Tim Minchin _with full orchestra_ was even better than any of them had imagined, and if anyone thought it was utterly ridiculous of Amy to suggest that he was either her third cousin twice removed, or one of her many ex-boyfriends, none of them pointed it out. Amy and Emily graciously agreed to use the two train tickets back to Bristol that Chloe had already purchased, which meant Beca finished the evening lying across the back seat of Aubrey’s car, head on Chloe’s lap, with her mind racing at 100 miles an hour. It wasn’t until almost an hour into the journey, when Stacie was sound asleep in the front seat, that the adrenaline finally began to wear off and Beca began to feel sleepy. Beca’s eyes were drooping closed but she knew there were two things she had to say to Chloe before sleep really overtook her.

“That was the best night of my life, Chlo,” she murmed sleepily into Chloe’s thigh, the soothing sensation of Chloe’s hand stroking the back of her neck only adding to her sleepiness.

“Mine too Becs,” Chloe whispered back.

“I’m gonna do it Chlo. I’ve got an appointment on Monday and-“ Beca gave an enormous yawn – “I’m gonna say yes. I’m gonna sign the form. I’m gonna do it.”


	20. Did they do it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends :) 
> 
> Unusually this chapter took so long because I spent so much time writing it, rewriting it, watching youtube videos about it, etc. I hope what I've made is ok. Beca's journey is coming to an end and there is just one more chapter to come, along with one (possibly two) epic epilogues. 
> 
> I hope you like it. I hope it's ok. 
> 
> Stay safe gang x

There were a lot of people at that appointment.

At the appointment in which Beca had been diagnosed with cancer, the dead giveaway to her diagnosis was that the consultant went to find “the nurse” to come into the appointment with her. From listening to Stacie’s stories of being on placement in hospitals, she knew this wasn’t a good news: clinical nurse specialists were present at every new diagnosis, mostly to re-explain everything the consultant had been saying while the patient was in too much in shock to hear a word.

When she had come back for the CT scan appointment in which she had found out her cancer had spread, there had been the doctor she was seeing, a Teenage Cancer Trust nurse _and_ a third person – who had turned out to be an orthopaedic surgeon.

This time, the small room had most definitely been at capacity, containing as it did her normal oncologist, the orthopaedic surgeon, the Teenage Cancer Trust nurse (still there to repeat everything she hadn’t been able to listen to) _and_ a physiotherapist, on top of herself and Chloe. The physio and the nurse had had to perch on the examination bed throughout the _long_ discussion about what would happen next and what would happen after.

Beca felt a sort of buzzing disconnect throughout this appointment. She heard the words they were saying: they would amputate her leg above the knee, she would start doing physio before the amputation, they would get her up and out of bed as soon as possible after the operation, she would have to attend rehab at a specialised rehab centre… etc. But mostly, Beca couldn’t get past the fact that when all of this would be happening, she would only have one leg. She might be agreeing to the operation, she might understand that this was the only thing that could save her life ( _and maybe not even then_ , she reminded herself, late at night when Chloe was sleeping peacefully beside her, when her leg hurt and her heart hurt and she wished so damned much that this had just never happened) but her eyes still filled with tears and her arm still felt like it was made of stone as she forced herself to sign the consent form.

 

 

_day 0_

_And it had all lead up to this moment,_ Beca mused as she sat in her hospital bed. It was early in the morning. She was in her regulation white-with-blue-diamonds, flimsy-as-hell hospital gown, sitting on top of the blanket on her neatly made bed, her left leg crossed over her right, fingers worrying themselves in her lap. She had arrived at the hospital in afternoon before, Chloe in tow, a large bag in tow behind that as they would both be staying in the hospital for 5 days or more. But Chloe had packed that. Because almost all of that time would be _after_ she had had her operation, and considering a time in the future when she only had one leg was still not something Beca could do. She had had a couple of counselling sessions with counsellors from the Teenage Cancer Trust – Beca had never been so grateful that they had a separate unit at the hospital in Bristol where she was now, and where she would be able to recover – but she was still struggling to come to terms with the _loss of a limb_. So, Chloe had packed her a bag, had packed her clothes (leggings, because they would easily fold up and tuck into her waistband, and big comfy t-shirts that she wouldn’t have to take off when someone wanted to listen to her breathing, and socks, because her _remaining foot_ might get cold when she was being less mobile, etc.), had packed her laptop and her smallest, most portable mixing equipment, had packed her headphones, and a bunch of cards and photos from their Bella housemates.

Beca had seen the physios, she’d seen the counsellor, she’d even seen her oncologist. She had let the nurse put a cannula in her arm, she had signed the frankly terrifying consent form for a blood transfusion, in case she needed one during the surgery, and she hadn’t had a drop of water or a morsel of food since last night, but who she was waiting for now was The Surgeon. The Surgeon, who was going to write on her right leg – THIS LEG – as well as on her left leg – NOT THIS LEG – and who would sign the final consent form with her. And then her nurse (Elizabeth, a sweet, mum-aged lady, with long thick hair and a kind smile) would wheel her from her current location in a side room, to the theatre. And then she would go to sleep, and when she woke up-

 

 

_3 hours_

“Did they do it?” voice croaky, eyelids fluttering, brow furrowed.

“They did it Becs,” soft, whispered, a catch in her throat.

“Oh. Ok,” and back to sleep.

 

 

_9 hours_

Beca’s eyes fluttered open, staying open this time. She blinked a few times, looked around the room, struggling to place herself in time. It was dark outside. Night time. She sat up, bedclothes rustling, and in doing so disturbed the red hair splayed across her blanket, which revealed itself to be Chloe’s when the redhead sat up suddenly, blinking herself in the bright fluorescent light of the hospital room.

“Beca!” she exclaimed, voice rough from sleep.

“Hey,” Beca almost whispered, her throat still hoarse and sore where they had intubated her during the surgery. Hearing the croak in her girlfriend’s voice Chloe turned around in her chair to the bed table behind her, poured a cup of water from the jug there, passed it to Beca with a straw. Beca drank thirstily.

“Thanks,” voice stronger now Beca shifted in the bed, leaning back into her pillows. She seemed to be fighting to keep her eyes open, blinking them repeatedly, closing her eyes for slightly longer each time.

“The doctor said you’d be feeling pretty sleepy for the first 24 hours,” Chloe reminded her gently.

“Mhmmm,” Beca mumbled, “msleepy. night night.”

Chloe smiled. Whatever time of the day or night it was that Beca was taking a nap (and she took plenty of naps) she always said night night.

“Night night, Becs,” she murmured in response, pulling the younger girl’s blankets up, fussing with them a little, smoothing them over her shoulders, “night night.”

 

 

_22 hours_

“Sorry to wake you Beca. We came round to see you yesterday but you were quite sleepy do I don’t suppose you remember that?”

“Not really, I’ve just mostly been asleep.”

“That’s to be expected. How are you feeling?”

“Ok I guess. Still kinda tired. I’m not really sure.”

“Have you had any breakfast?”

“A piece of toast.”

“Any pain anywhere at all?”

“No. I can’t feel anything in… on my right side”

“That’s because of the nerve block we put in. That’s going to start wearing off in the next hour or so. Do you have any sensations that aren’t pai-“

“-No.”

The doctor indicated the small remote attached to a wire which lead to a pump, sitting on the bed next to Beca’s.  “Has someone talked to you about your patient controlled analgesia pump?”

“Yeah, Elizabeth did. My nurse.”

“Great. There are additional painkillers which we’ve prescribe for you which you can have if you’re still in pain, so make sure to tell someone if that’s the case, ok?”

“Ok.”

“The physios should be around to see you in an hour or so.”

“Right.”

“And you’re Beca’s friend, is that right?”

“She’s my girlfriend.”

“Excellent. Physio is always more fun when you’ve got someone with you. We’ll see you soon, Beca.”

As the collection of doctors that had come to see her filed out of the room, Beca slumped back on her pillow.

“How are you actually feeling Bec?” Chloe asked, somewhat tentatively. The other girl had only been woken up by the doctors on their ward round, so the two hadn’t had a chance to speak yet.

“Fine,” Beca replied, avoiding Chloe’s eyes, staring determinedly at something invisible but evidently interesting on the other side of the room.

“Mhmmm,” Chloe said sceptically, “and on a scale of nought to shitting yourself, how scared are you to look under your blankets right now?”

Silence for a beat.

“Maybe a nine?”

“And how does your right leg really feel?”

Another beat.

“Like it’s still there.”

“Oh Beca,” Chloe sighed, standing up, walking over to the girl in the bed. Cupping her cheek in her hands, Chloe slowly turned Beca to face her, finally meeting those dark blue eyes, which were shining even more brightly than usual with the tears that threatened to spill down the other girls’ cheeks.

“It’s going to be OK, Bec. Shall we look together, now? Before the physios get here? You know that hot one is gonna want your sexy ass out of bed so you can go racing up the corridor on a walker, spreading carnage in true Beca effin’ Mitchell style.”

Chloe’s insides _glowed_ when this speech elicited an _almost_ chuckle from her girlfriend.

“You can have kisses for motivation,” Chloe smirked, kissing first Beca’s forehead, then one cheek, then the other, and then-

“Nope! You don’t get the money shot until that blanket is right off your lap,” Chloe sang, dancing away from Beca slightly as the other girl opened her eyes and pouted.

“You’re mean.”

“Yep!” Chloe laughed.

But then, serious, “Beca, I know this is scary, and I know everything is different now, and but you’re still the same badass DJ you ever were, and if you can win the vomiting-Bellas first place in Nationals, you can do this. Because you’re Beca effin’ Mitchell. And because Fat Amy sent you some of her rack confidence. Don’t worry, I already transferred it with kisses.”

Beca gave a watery smile.

“Ok. Let’s do this shit.”

And she did.

 

 

_26 hours_

“I can’t do this Chloe, fuck, this HURTS, FUCK, I can’t do this, I can’t,” tears streaming down her face, hands clutched against her right thigh.

“Have you pressed the button?!” Frantic, frightened.

“I’ve pressed the fucking button but I pressed it five fucking minutes ago and it doesn’t give out that often, shit this hurts,” voice cracking, sobbing gently.

“Ok, I’ve pressed the call button, Elizabeth is coming, they’ll give you something,” smoothing hair away from a sweating brow, stroking a clammy cheek, one fist clenched by her side.

“Make her come quickly, Jesus Christ this is painful, for a leg that isn’t that it fucking HURTS.”

“Ok Beca, ok, I’m here, I’ve putting some painkillers in your IV right now, you should start to feel better very quickly. They might make you sleepy though, ok?”

 

 

 

“Sorry for scaring you Chlo…”

“It’s ok Bec. Just get some sleep,” a kiss on the forehead, “I love you.”

“mmmlove you too..”

 

 

_72 hours_

“Ok Beca. They’ve removed the drain from your leg. They’ve weaned you off the good painkillers, they’ve taken away your sexy nasal specs so you’re on the same air as the rest of us, and you’ve got an outpatients appointment to have your dressing removed and your residual limb wrapped. The only thing keeping you away from the PlayStation down the hall is that catheter. If you show me you can get into this wheelchair and onto the toilet by yourself, we can whip that baby out and you can go lose to your girlfriend at Mario Kart. Do you have this?”

“I’ve got this.”

“Ok. Show me what you’ve got”

 

 

_84 hours_

“Chloeeee, I have to pee _again_ ,”

“Mhmmm, and what do you want me to do about it?”

“Help meeeeeee”

“Rebecca Charlotta Mitchell your wheelchair is _right there_. You’re perfectly capable of getting in it and going to the loo by yourself, so hush your moaning and leave me to reading my book. Unless you need me to wipe your ass for you too?”

“…,” pout, “fine.”

 

 

_96 hours_

“Eugh, this is too hard!”

“It’s hard, Rebecca, but it isn’t _too hard_ ”

“How the hell would you know, how many legs do you have?!”

“…”

“Eugh, Chloe, how did all those YouTube people make this look so easy?!”

“I’m pretty sure they only put the happy bits on their channels, Becs. I’m pretty sure they found it hard too.”

“No they didn’t, they were all perfect and everything was great and none of them had any pain and they were all fucking Olympic HOPPERS.”

“I’m 98% certain there isn’t such thing as Olympic hopping Bec. We watched all of 2012 and not even the people with one leg were hopping.”

“Arghhhhh, Chloeeeeeeeeeee, I would rather watch Amy flash President Obama and thousands of other people while attempting to perform an aerial silk routine, than try and walk to the bathroom on these stupid crutches”

“That was… oddly specific, and we should discuss that later, but in the meantime, you made it! Now pee.”

 

 

_100 hours_

“How’re you feeling Beca?”

“Oh y’know, just like my leg, which isn’t there, has a spider crawling on it, which isn’t there, and like my ankle, which isn’t there, is at a super uncomfy angle, but I can’t change it because, get this, it _isn’t there_. So I’m feeling just peachy, thanks for asking Doc.”

 

 

_120 hours_

“Sweet wheels shortstack! Although, I’m pretty sure I could rock the wheelchair look a _leeeeeetle_ better than you, I’ll let it go just this one time, seeing as I’m pretty sure even though couldn’t fall sitting down.”

It had been 5 days since her operation, and it was finally time for Beca to go _home_. The nurse had been round that morning and taken off the stiff bandage,eemoved the staples from the wound and re-wrapped her… _residual limb_ , Beca thought to herself, _residual limb residual limb residual limb. I don’t have a leg anymore, I have a residual limb._

She could get around using crutches, her right _residual limb_ dangling in the air, but at this point she was still liable to forget, just for a split second, that she _didn’t have a right leg_. That split second was all it took to shift her weight onto her non-existent right leg, and send her tumbling to the ground. So far she had only had one ‘uncontrolled fall’ (as opposed to a ‘controlled fall’ or ‘a stumble’) but that had been enough to make her pretty nervous about using crutches. So, cumbersome though it might be, the safety of having her bum firmly in a chair made her prefer to get around in her wheelchair. The occupational therapists had given her a pretty snazzy, lightweight one (Beca tried _not_ to think about the fact that the quality of the wheelchair they gave you was directly proportional to how long they expected you to spend in it, and this one was _fancy_ ), so it was pretty easy to get around on. For not the first time in many days, Beca thanked her lucky stars, and then her wonderful housemates, that she lived in a flat where everything was on one level, or she would’ve had to stay in the hospital longer.

“I can’t quite believe they’re letting me go home,” she mused to no one in particular. At that moment in time her private room was full to bursting with Bellas; not just Amy, but also Stacie, Aubrey, _and_ Emily, as well as the ever-present Chloe, had all come to take her home again. The impracticality of such a huge sending off party (it required them to bring two cars, rather than one) had been pointed out by Beca, but secretly she was pleased that they had all come to help her on her way, and she was fooling no one when she said they should have all just stayed at home.

It was Emily, however, who heard Beca’s remark, and the young Bella turned from where she had been watching Fat Amy attempt to demonstrate her proficiency at using crutches, to general amusement, to face Beca.

“Ummm, how come? Don’t you want to go home?”

“No I do, of course I do!” Beca corrected quickly, “Believe me, I want to go home. It’s just kinda crazy y’know? They take a _whole leg_ and then they just send you off into the world as if nothing’s changed, even though… Y’know. You only have one leg. It just seems weird, you know?”

Emily nodded enthusiastically, “Right! Kinda like when your parents drop you at your room in halls, and then they leave, and suddenly you’re this person that lives in one room and you only have food if you go out and buy it and you only have clean pants if you actually do your laundry and it’s a terrifying but your parents just leave you there and-“ Emily was cut off by the somewhat startling sight of Beca laughing hysterically.

“Yeah. Sure Emily. Just like that.”


	21. There isn't going to be a later.

_The only surprising thing about this fight,_ Stacie mused, _is that it hasn’t happened before._

 

 _3 hours earlier_.

“Bec?” Chloe called from the doorway, trepidation all over her tone, body shaking slightly in anticipation of her girlfriend’s reaction to her next words, “Beca, you need to do your exercises.”

Silence.

She took a few steps further into the room and stood at the end of the sofa, looking down at her girlfriend, sitting curled up on the sofa with one knee ( _onekneeonekneesheonlyhasoneknee)_ under her chin, her stump ( _residuallimbRESIDUALLIMB)_ straight out in front of her, eyes ahead and unmoving.

“I know they hurt and I know you don’t feel like you’re doing any better Bec, but you have to do this now or-“

“Or what, Chloe?” Beca asked, her voice deadly calm  although her  eyes flashed with anger, her face ugly in it’s contorted rage, turning only her head towards her girlfriend.

Deep breath.

“Or you’ll struggle to walk when you get a prosthetic. I know it’s painful but-“

“Do you, Chloe? Do you know that it’s painful? Do you know what it feels like to have an itch you can’t scratch in a leg you can’t see? Do you know what it feels like to have shards of glass stabbing the bottom of a foot you can’t even stand on? Do you know how it feels to touch a scar, a _scar_ where there used to be a leg, skin that was supposed to be the front of my thigh and is now the end of my stump? Do you know how it feels to be helpless and in pain, Chloe? Do you?” Beca’s voice started quiet, but by the end she was shouting, anger blazing with every spat-out syllable.

And for a second, just a second, Chloe thought about saying _yes,_ because watching Beca now, small and so angry, a spitting ball of rage, feels like knives in her tummy, a lump in her throat and lemon juice in her eyes, and it _hurts_ and she is helpless.

Another deep breath.

Voice shaking.

“No Beca. You know I don’t know what that’s like. I think you also know that I love you, and… and that you only get once chance to get this right. If your limb heals badly now, you won’t be able to use it later.”

“THERE ISN’T GOING TO BE A LATER, CHLOE!” Beca yelled, and she was squirming now, trying to stand up but oh, _oh_ , she can’t, because that leg isn’t there and she crashed onto the sofa again.

“Don’t TOUCH me!” Beca yelled as Chloe reached out to help her, and Chloe flinched.

“There isn’t going to be a later Chloe. There isn’t an ‘after’ or a ‘later’ or a ‘when I get my prosthetic’! I’m going to die Chloe, and I’m going to have spent my last weeks alive helpless and in pain! There is no point! There is no after! There’s only now, when it hurts to move and it hurts to try and every morning I wake up is almost a disappointment because it’s another day I’ll have to live through before I get to stop fighting,” and suddenly her voice dropped.

These days, Beca couldn’t make a dramatic exit. She couldn’t storm out in a huff, slam doors, run away and shut herself in her bedroom to sob on a duvet. But she still had her words, and they were like a wall, pushing Chloe further and further from the room, until it was Chloe that fled, ran to her rom, threw herself onto her bed, pulled her knees to her chest and cried.

 

She fucked up. Her crutches are out of reach, and having only recently had an ‘uncontrolled fall’ (albeit onto the couch) her nerves are shot and her whole body is shaking too much to dare to hop the Chloe’s room. She has slithered off of the sofa and onto the floor, preparing to crawl to Chloe’s room if nothing else, but in the process she jarred her stump against the hard wood of the coffee table in front of her, and for a second her vision was fuzzy with the high-pitched shockwave of pain that rattled through her, her eyes burning with frustration and pain. In the end she gave up, curled into herself and began to cry in earnest.

 

 

_now_

At some point, she had either cried herself to sleep or passed out, because the next thing Beca knew there was a soft hand holding her face, and someone’s thumb was gently rubbing her cheek.

She tried not to be disappointed when her eyes finally opened, puffy and stuck together with salt water, to see Stacie sitting on the floor in front of her, hand on Beca’s face and eyes full of sympathy.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Beca croaked, eyes stinging with tears again.

“Like what?” Stacie asked calmly.

“Like you’re sad for me and you love me.”

“But I am sad for you, and I do love you.”

“You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t be being nice to me. I’m a horrible person and I’ve been a complete bitch to Chloe and-,” with a hitch in her voice, “I don’t deserve you being nice to me”. 

“You blew up, Bec. You’ve been having a shitty time and you were angry and you shouted at someone who loves you very, very much. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love and affection and your best friend being nice to you.”

Beca only snivelled in response. Her head was aching, her nose was stuffy, her eyes were stinging and she was the worst person in the world.

“Is Aubrey here?” she asked eventually.

“Yeah. She’s with Chloe. She rang Chloe and when she heard she was upset, we headed over.”

Beca didn’t respond.

“You wanna go see Chloe?” Stacie asked softly.

“She probably doesn’t want to see me,” Beca replied, her voice cracking part way through.

“Of course she does Beca. She loves you and she’s worried about you. I know you’re still probably feeling kinda shaky. I’m gonna go get your chair, and then you’re gonna go see Chloe, ok?”

Beca nodded numbly, starting to uncurl her body and wincing at the sharp pain she felt as her limbs protested to the sudden movements, having lain stiff for too long.

Stacie came back with the chair, positioning it between the sofa and coffee table, so that all Beca had to do was to stand up with Stacie’s help, rotate on the spot, and fall heavily into the chair with a sigh.

“You want me to push you?” Stacie offered.

Beca didn’t want to say yes, but she was exhausted, and she didn’t have the strength to disagree so she nodded.

Stacie pushed her slowly out of the sitting room, down the hall to Chloe’s room. Beca knocked, low down on the door where she could reach it. A moment later, Aubrey’s head was poking round the door, her eyes narrowed slightly. For a moment, Beca thought Aubrey was going to shout at her, to tell her what an awful person she is to have upset Chloe so, but all that tainted Aubrey’s voice was exhaustion.

“Hey Beca. I’m just gonna ask if she wants to see you, ok?”

Beca nodded, eyes downcast as Aubrey closed to the door again, preparing herself for Chloe’s rejection. But it was only a second later that the door swung open in front of her and Aubrey walked out, closing the door behind her and stopping in front of Beca for a moment.

“Fix it.”

Beca pushed herself into the room, bumping gently over the little strip of metal at the bottom of the door frame that she had no idea the name of.

Chloe was sitting on her bed, back resting against the wall, her eyes red and puffy and not looking at Beca.

“I’m sorry Chloe.”

She went straight in. Watching her parents argue as she had grown up, Beca had learnt the art and usefulness of the Full and Frank Apology. It wasn’t something that she liked to use often because sometimes it made something defensive inside of her squirm to be let lose, but today was definitely the day. So often she had watched her dad apologise and qualify it, or even apologise for completely the wrong thing, and she was determined not to do that this time. She was in the wrong, and she wanted Chloe to know it.

“I’m sorry that I yelled at you. I was upset and angry about what was going on, and I shouldn’t have taken those feelings out on you. I’m sorry that I’ve been so ungrateful for all the help and encouragement you’ve given me; I know that you were trying to help me when you told me to do my exercises and I shouldn’t have yelled all those horrible things at you. I’m scared, Chlo, but that isn’t a reason to hurt you, and I’m sorry. Having cancer doesn’t give me an excuse to be an ass.”

The silence that follows filled the room, expanding into every nook and cranny and making the air thick and stifling before.

“It’s ok, Bec,” and Beca let go a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

“It’s not OK, it’s not ok Chlo, I-“ Beca began, frantic, desperate to make Chloe understand that she _knew_ , she _knew_ that what she’d done _wasn’t_ ok and that she didn’t have to give her a free pass but then-

“No, it wasn’t ok. It wasn’t ok how you spoke to me, and it wasn’t ok to hurt me because you were hurting but. I love you, Beca Mitchell, and… I’m scared too. And I know that you are at least as angry with yourself as I am at you, so I’m not going to make it worse.”

Chloe’s voice was slightly nasal, her nose still blocked from her long cry, her speech punctuated by sniffs, but her voice was clear, and a wave of relief washed through Beca and out her eyes as hot salt tears flooded her cheeks again.

“I’m so sorry Chlo,” she choked, torn between using her hands to wipe away the (attractive) mixture of snot and tears on her face, and using them to push herself toward Chloe. In the end she ends up trying to do both and turning her wheelchair a full 90 degrees and then Chloe snorts and Beca laughs and suddenly Chloe is in front of her, sitting on her lap and they are laughing and crying in each other’s arms.

 

 

 

Later that night, after a hot shower (together, nominally because it saves water, right? [WRONG, if your names are Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale] but truly because it made Beca feel safer and Chloe knew that) and a large bowl of pasta and a film together on the sofa with Aubrey and Stacie, the last time the girls would all be together before Christmas in a few days time, they lay in bed together, foreheads touching, hands loosely tangled between them.

“There’s a folder-“ Beca began, her voice soft to match the darkness around them, and suddenly Chloe’s hand was tight in Beca’s.

“No Beca, don-“

“On my desktop. It’s called-“

“-t tell me, it’s not going to-“

“-world enough and time and-“

“happen, it can’t happen, I won’t-”

“There’s a folder there, with each of the girls’ names on it and”

“-let it, you’re going to”

“I need you to open it, if I die.”

“die…,” but the word faded from Chloe’s lips and for a second, there was only ringing in Chloe’s ears.

“Talking about it isn’t going to make it happen, Chlo. And _not_ talking about it isn’t going to stop it happening. I don’t want… I don’t want to just disappear. I don’t want to just vanish, unexpectedly. I don’t want to go kicking and screaming with my fingers in my ears and my head in the sand. If I die… I want to know I’ve left something for you. I want to know that you _know_ how much I love you and how much you mean to me, and how much I want you to be happen. I want to let you go and not be your dead girlfriend forever. I just want… I want something, to be left. Please Chloe. Just tell me you’ll open the folders.”

A few moments silence, and then, almost inaudibly, “Ok.” And then, even though Beca herself doesn’t know her new body well, Chloe finds every inch of skin old and new on Beca’s body and makes it burn, and they exhaust themselves with reminders that right now, _they are alive_.

 

 

 

 _2 months later_.

“We’ve got to delay the start of your chemo Beca. Your liver function tests are deranged and we’re not quite sure why. It could be nothing, just one of your medications, something that will settle down in time, but there is a possibility that you have metastases in your liver. We need to do another CT scan to be sure what we’re dealing with, because if that’s the case… There wouldn’t be anything curative we could do. You have to prepare yourself for the possibility Beca.”

There goes the ground again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the hardest to write, hence the long delay. i didn't want to post this chapter without the epilogue so you had to wait for both! 
> 
> Thanks friends xx


	22. Epilogue + author's note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this final instalment. I couldn't read through it, so please let me know if you spot any errors.
> 
> Freya x

_6 years later_

 

_“We need to do another CT scan to be sure what we’re dealing with”_

_“The CT scan showed that there is metastatic disease in your liver Beca”_

_“they haven’t been responding to chemotherapy and they aren’t the type of tumour that can be removed surgically.”_

_“They said there isn’t curative we can do for your cancer, Beca. You have to option of palliative radiotherapy, which should make you more comfortable”._

_“So, just to be clear, I’m dying, right? This thing’s gonna kill me?”_

_“Your cancer is now terminal, yes.”_

_“There has to be something we can do, Bec”_

_“There isn’t anything Chloe. I’m gonna… I’m gonna go stay with my dad for a while ok? I just. I don’t think I can be anyone’s girlfriend right now. I’m sorry. Please just… Remember the folder. Remember I left something. ”_

_“Chloe, pull over ok?”_

_“Chloe, that was Beca’s dad. She died this morning.”_

* * *

 

 

_[Cosmopolitan Magazine, November 2022]_

You all now who Beca Beale-Mitchell is, whether you followed her career from it’s beginnings (which, let’s be honest, unless you were a British _a capella_ enthusiast circa 2011, you probably didn’t) or you had previously been living under a rock and only became aware of this talented young woman when she helped raise over £25 million performing as part of the Children in Need telethon this year. This year, as well as contributing to that extraordinary fundraising effort, it was also announced that Beca was a patron of the Teenage Cancer Trust, as well as becoming one of their Survivor Ambassadors. This came as a shock to many people who had no idea that Beca herself had cancer during her time at the University of Bristol. This is the first interview she’s taken part in, in which she discusses the subject, and I’m honoured to have been part of this conversation.

 _Aubrey Posen_ : So Beca, I watched a video of the Bristol Bella’s circa 2011-

 _Beca Beale-Mitchell_ : [covering her face] Oh God, please, please don’t make me watch them

 _AP:_ Aww come on, you’re singing and dancing like a champ, why wouldn’t you want people to see these?!

 _BBM:_ [laughs] it’s not that I don’t want people to see them, it’s just that I have no desire to see them myself. I’ve learned a lot since then, not least that less is more.

 _AP_ : Ok, ok. I would, however, like to discuss a certain beautiful redhead featuring in this video…

 _BBM_ : [blushes]

 _AP_ : You’re blushing, Mitchell.

 _BBM_ : That’s Beale-Mitchell to you, Posen, and I have literally no idea why I’m blushing, we’ve been married for 8 years already, and you know that, because you were there.

 _AP_ : You have indeed; I was of course talking about the beautiful Chloe Beale, and now seems like the right time to disclose to our readers that I also feature in that video. I’ve actually known Beca since we were 18. Which is part of the reason you’re letting me do this interview and tell this story, right Mitchell?

 _BBM_ : Right.

 _AP_ : Ok. So, this video was taken in June 2011. Can you tell us a little bit about what happened in September of that year?

 _BBM_ : [takes a deep breath] Yeahhhhh. That was when I got diagnosed with cancer. I had been exhausted all the time, and my leg was weirdly swollen and painful and– look guys, if something is going on with your body and it’s worrying you, even if you GP is dismissive, you have to keep going back. Because I went to my GP 3 times before they even referred me on for more testing, and it took them almost 2 month to work out that I had cancer.

 _AP_ : So, that’s when you were diagnosed. I remember Chloe [Beale-Mitchell] telling me about it and I just couldn’t believe it, so I have no idea how it must have felt for you.

 _BBM_ : It was scary. It was terrifying. But I was lucky, because I had an incredible support system in you guys [The Bristol Bellas] and because the Teenage Cancer Trust has a centre in Bristol, so I was able to have my treatment and stuff there, except after the surgery, but that’s skipping ahead a little in the story.

 _AP_ : Would you be happy to tell us the story? I mean, you don’t have to tell us anything in detail just, maybe a quick overview? And then we can talk a little bit about how the Teenage Cancer Trust helped you, and why you’ve decided to go public about your support for them.

 _BBM_ : Sure. So, like I said, I was diagnosed that September and God, it was like… It was like the floor dropped out from under me, like, like my diaphragm disappeared and suddenly there was a hole in my chest and I couldn’t breathe. So, at first they thought I would just have to have one surgery to remove the cancerous bone – I had this rare cancer called Ewing Sarcoma, in my shin bone – and then some chemotherapy to kinda, clean up the edges, and then I would be done.

 _AP_ : But that’s not quite what happened.

 _BBM_ : No. What actually happened is that, I had the surgery and the chemo – and I did the whole chemo thing, the being sick and losing my hair, the whole shebang – and then – still cancer. So next… they wanted to amputate my leg. And oh hell did I not want them to do that. I nearly gave up at that point. It was just… It was so hard to imagine how I would deal with that, y’know? And I knew my chances weren’t that great even _after_ the surgery, and the thought of doing something so, so- drastic, and then dying anyway? But then I had this amazing date with my amazing girlfriend and I just- I realised that I had to fight, even if at that time it kinda felt like I was fighting for other people.

 _AP_ : So, they amputated your leg.

 _BBM_ : They amputated my leg. Above my knee, pretty high up on my thigh bone and just-. Oh man. That was hard. I got quite seriously depressed after that. To be so reliant on other people… When you have your leg amputated and the rest of you is healthy, it’s one thing. But to have it amputated when you’re still pretty wrecked from chemo and you’re gonna be wrecked from chemo again… It was hard. I really struggled. But with Chloe, and you, Posen, and Stace [Stacie Posen] I got out of it eventually and. Everything was going well. I was going into hospital for my final chemo and. There was something wrong.

 _AP_ : With your liver, right?

 _BBM_ : Right. And they didn’t know if it was the drugs, and it would go away or…

 _AP_ : Or if it was the cancer, and it wouldn’t go away.

 _BBM_ : Yeah. There was this week where I was, just in limbo, y’know? Waiting to hear one way or the other, if I was gonna start the round of chemo that would hopefully be my last or if…

 _AP_ : Or if there was nothing else they could do.

 _BBM_ : Right. But… Thank goodness, it was transient. They changed a few of my medications around, and my results went back to normal.

 _AP_ : No cancer in your liver.

 _BBM_ : No cancer in my liver.

 _AP_ : That must have been an incredible relief.

 _BBM_ : [laughs] I don’t think relief even begins to cover it. My wife and I, both of still get nightmares about that sometimes. Nightmares where that story ended differently. She [Chloe] had one last night, actually. I don’t think it’s something that goes away.

 _AP_ : Stacie and I still get those nightmares.

 _BBM_ : [squeezing my hand] but hey. It didn’t happen. And I’m so grateful it didn’t happen. I’ve been able to do so much with my life and just.

 _AP_ : Ok, we need to stop crying. Deep breaths Mitchell. Tell me something happy. Tell me about Chloe. You’ve been married for 8 years. You’re 29 years old. That’s insane. Tell our readers about it.

 _BBM_ : [her face lights up] right! So Chloe. Chloe is… Chloe was my rock, when I was ill. I’m not all that close with my parents and so Chloe was just. The person who was always with me, y’know? She was my rock. We actually got together while I was ill. I was so reluctant at first… I spent a lot of the time I was will convinced I was gonna die, y’know? I didn’t want to die as her girlfriend, didn’t want her to have ‘dead girlfriend’ hanging over her head forever, y’know?

 _AP_ : I remember, you were so stubborn! I had Chloe in tears about that more than once my friend.

 _BBM_ : Aww dude, I’m sorry! Anyway. Eventually I got my head out of my ass and realised she was as grown up as I was, and that wasn’t a decision I was going to make for her. I’m not saying it was all easy… At first I was worried that, because there was this element of our relationship where she was caring for me, y’know?, that maybe, she just felt sorry for me. But thinking that was a disservice to Chloe, and to our relationship. We were attracted to each other before I got ill, but there’s nothing like a reminder that life is short to get the ball rolling. We did have this one big fight though, a few weeks after the amputation. It was really hard on her.

 _AP_ : I remember that. That was not good.

 _BBM_ : No. That was not good. And after that Chloe got some support and counselling through the Teenage Cancer Trust which just. Made such a difference.

 _AP_ : Tell us about the proposal!

 _BBM_ : Ahh yes, the proposal… [cue the dreamy eyes, vacant expression, happy sigh]

 _AP_ : [clicks fingers] Earth to Mitchell! Proposal!

 _BBM_ : Right! Sorry. So. Just as some background; the whole time I’d been ill I’d been… mixing music. Making these like, individualised albums, for each of the Bellas, and for Chloe. Kinda… A legacy. So that if something happened to me… They’d have something to remember me by. So… The day after I’d been given the entire, compete and final all clear from my doctor, I made Chloe this fancy dinner-

 _AP_ : Excuse you, I seem to remember that _I_ cooked that fancy dinner.

 _BBM_ : [chuckles] details, details Posen. Anyway. Point is, we had this fancy dinner, candlelight and everything, we’ve shared a pudding, clichés running wild every and- I give her as CD.

 _AP_ : in hindsight, I can see how this was dumb.

 _BBM_ : Right. But we were 21 and stupid then. So I give her this CD and tell her to play it and she just- bursts into tears.

 _AP_ : Full on wailing.

 _BBM_ : Exactly. Full on, _my girlfriend is dying and this she’s giving me this music to remember me by_ wailing. So I rush round the table and eventually manage to convince her that, while I am an idiot, I’m not, in fact, dying.

 _AP_ : And then she hit you.

 _BBM_ : Yes, thank you Posen, and then she hit me. But once she’d got over that, she put the CD on.

 _AP_ : And it only had one track.

 _BBM_ : And it only had one track. And it was this track that I’d recorded with just me singing on it, it was just my voice but I was singing this mashup that we’d sung the first time I’d convinced the Bellas to sing one of my songs.

 _AP_ : Just the way you are and Just a dream.

 _BBM_ : Exactly. And then when the song finishes, I say – I mean, recording me says – look down Chloe – because this whole time Chloe has just been staring into space because that what she _always does_ when she listens to music which, like-

 _AP_ : Focus Mitchell. So, you tell her to look down.

 _BBM_ : Right. I tell her to look down and… There I am, on one knee, ring box open in my hand. And I start trying to make this whole beautiful speech about how I’d just been given the rest of my life back and I wanted to spend it with her – but I barely got a word out before she was crying again but this time she was crying and saying yes and-. I never made my speech. But I did get the girl.

 _AP_ : You got the girl.

 _BBM_ : I got the girl.

 _AP_ : Right. On that note, we have to wrap up. It’s been an honour, Beca, to talk to you about this. Thank you for sharing your story with us today.

 _BBM_ : You were there dude. It’s your story too. And if it helps one single young person out there, then it’s been worth it. I had cancer. I had my leg amputated. I thought I was gonna die. But look at me now. I have a beautiful wife, a career I love, and- sit down, Posen, you’re gonna want to listen to this because it concerns you closely.

 _AP_ : [I sit down, confused]

 _BBM_ : And in 4 months time, you’ll have your first godchild, Posen. She’s a girl, by the way. And she’s going to be incredible.

 

 

And she was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note:
> 
> Most of you have probably guessed by now that I didn’t pull this story entirely from my imagination. In October 2008, when I was 16, one of my closest friends from school was diagnosed with Ewing sarcoma. Chloe's nightmare is her story; she died 11 days after her 18th birthday. I apologise for the long wairt, for the cliff hanger ending and the long time jump, but writing this proved harder than I expected. I hope I have produced something that a few people at least can enjoy.
> 
> Thank you for joining me on this journey. Also check out the awesome teenage cancer trust!
> 
> In friendship,
> 
> Freya.  


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